


Sliding Doors

by Candymacaron



Series: Sliding Doors [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst, Friendship/Love, Glompfest, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Movie, Love Triangles, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/pseuds/Candymacaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is catching the train on time for Arthur Pendragon's comfortable life to be stripped from him. Can Merlin Emrys, the strange man who keeps sliding in and out of Arthur's world, teach him to live and love again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stranger on the Train

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchboximpala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchboximpala/gifts).



> For you matchboximpala. I'm sorry it took me so long to post the full companion fic to the art, but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thank you greeneyes_fan, a million thank you's to Waanderlust for general plot beta/cheer-leading (when I needed it the most). And a huge thank you to SapphireNight for betaing the first chapter (all additional mistakes are mine, as always).
> 
> Please note that this fic is loosely based on one of the plots from the 1998 film by the same name, however huge artistic liberties have been taken. I do not own the film, nor do I own the Merlin characters, etc. etc.

*******

Arthur had dated his boyfriend long enough to know that nothing roused Mordred when fully asleep. Still, Arthur wiggled onto the bed next to him, watching the graceful fall of Mordred's ribcage as he snored. He planted a gentle goodbye kiss on his forehead, hoping that if Mordred awoke, though the odds were slim, he would wrestle Arthur back into bed with whispered pleas of, ‘don’t leave yet’, and, ‘we can make it quick’.

When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, Arthur felt his way to the front door. He threw on his coat and checked his mobile for the tenth time, aware that he was running late. Even so, he’d make time to swing by Pret to get his caffeine fix. The coffee at his office was piss-thin, and he had a sneaking suspicion his boss preferred it that way.

The queue at Pret was longer than expected; and a detour to Tesco’s stole more of Arthur’s dwindling time. When he finally reached the marble lobby of building number fifty-five, his nose tingled from the nippy air and his mobile read twenty after nine. He caught the lift to the thirtieth floor, jogged past honeycombs of cubicles and tossed his purchases from Tesco onto the secretary’s empty desk.

If Vivian wasn’t sitting in her chair filing her nails to nothing then they’d started the Monday meeting without him.

_Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit._

Arthur straightened out his tie and slid open the door of Camelot Marketing’s main conference room. A half circle of professionals in jet-black suits greeted him, Nimueh shaking her head at Arthur gravely from the middle of the group.

Her lips were puckered at the centre, like she’d just sucked the juice straight out of a lemon. Arthur would have found it disturbing, except that Nimueh glowered at him like this every morning. And, just like every morning, Arthur steeled himself for her barrage of complaints. It was impossible for him to divine what he’d done to set Nimueh off today, but he was certain it wasn’t anything to merit her theatrics.

“I know. You'd almost forgotten I work here,” Arthur sighed, shrugging off his coat. “I was up all night toying with ideas for the fashion show and I've really hit on something. You see-”

To Nimueh’s right, Morgause from Human Resources raised a cardboard Smirnoff box, flipping it over to emphasize the empty contents.

“Yes, I took four bottles of vodka from the office on Saturday. It was my boyfriend’s birthday, you know that,” Arthur replied. “I planning a surprise party for him, but conference calls kept me late at the office. You know what a madhouse the shops are on weekends, I would have never made it there and back home in time so I borrowed our bottles. I’ve bought some more to replace it. The bag is on Vivien’s-“

“Not much use to me when I have nothing to offer the executives who drop by late Friday,” Nimueh interrupted, drumming her fingers against the glass conference table.

“You could have told them we'd run out? Fabricated a story? We're in PR., that's what we do, isn't it?” Arthur said. “And what is Morgause doing here? The outlook agenda never mentioned a guest appearance from HR.“

Morgause gave Arthur a self satisfied smile, the implication hitting him like well-placed punch. Morgause’s nickname around the office was the ‘GP’, because just like a local practitioner, she handled all company births (i.e. hiring’s) and deaths (i.e. firing’s), and was also never available when you wanted to make an appointment.

The rest of the room blurred from Arthur’s vision, leaving only Nimueh’s bloodless face and the silver ring that flashed every time her digits twitched.

“Theft of Camelot property is a serious act, Arthur,” she continued, her voice cutting through the air like shattered glass.

Arthur took a deep breath. “ _Theft_?” he asked tentatively. “So I’m a thief now, am I?”

“It pains me to make an example of you, but I can’t overlook such a huge breach in company policy.”

He could feel the mood in the room sour. No one had moved from their positions at the conference table, but Arthur suddenly felt as if everyone had stood up to crowd around him and laugh.

“Please,” he said, digging his heels in. He had played Nimueh’s games before and come out unscathed. He could manage it again. “I’m willing to take responsibility for the vodka, but there must be something I can do to fix the situation? If one case isn’t enough of a replacement I’d be happy to buy-”

“What you can do, Arthur, is clear out your desk.”

Fear up welled inside him. The kind that strangles your throat, so that when you scream nothing but silence slips out.

Nimueh was stringing him along. She was taking her time and enjoying herself as she sharpened the dagger she planned to stab Arthur in the back with.

This wasn’t going to be a slap on the wrist after all. It was an execution.

Arthur replied in a hoarse voice. “You don’t understand. I need this job-”

“Now, _Arthur_.” Nimueh said, detached.

It was hopeless cause. There was nothing else Nimueh could take from him now, except his dignity, and Arthur wouldn't let her sieve another drop of that from him. Desperation had made his body feel weightless, his mind unhinged. But now it was anger that pooled hot in Arthur’s gut.

If he had to leave, then he wasn’t leaving quietly. He would be a firecracker bursting inside the conference room; a termination that Nimueh would live to regret.

“Well, this is just perfect. Congratulations, _Nimueh_.” Arthur said sharply, accentuating her name like a curse. “You’ve wanted me sacked since father retired and now you've done it. _Theft_. Pretty fool-proof.”

He yanked his coat off of the chair back, slinging it over his shoulder. “Anyway, I was getting a bit choked up with all the bullshit flying about the place. Best I get out before I start mooing happily over to the slaughterhouse like the rest of your herd of cattle. Do yourself a favour, Nimueh, and hire a mute as my replacement. That should solve you the annoying problem of having an employee who mouths back as he’s being fucked-over.

Morgause shook her head, and Arthur tried to ignore the impassive look’s directed at him from the rest of the staff. Look’s that insinuated he’d gotten what he deserved. That said, ‘Poor little rich boy, who are you going to cry too now that daddy is no longer here?’

They were no different than what Arthur got every day; well, at least he wouldn’t need to endure them anymore.

He left the conference room as quickly as he could, but he could still hear Nimueh hissing loudly to Morgause as he left.

“I told you, he’s just like his father. Rotten apples never fall far from the tree.”

 

 

*******

Arthur’s shoes beat a marching rhythm on the carpet. He was still breathing heavily from the confrontation, his hands clenched in unintentional fists.

He stormed into his cubicle, pulled a file box out of the corner and shoved it up to the edge of his desk, wiping what was on the desktop into it with a sweep of his arm. Once the box was full he headed towards the lift, determined to leave the office before the meeting ended.

To be honest, Arthur had loved the industry he worked in, but never his position within Camelot Marketing. He’d come into the company five years ago, starry eyed and ready to show them what he was made of, but his reputation as the son of the reviled ex-CEO had haunted his career from the very beginning.

No matter how many successful launches he aided in or contracts he secured, Nimueh still punished him for his father’s mistakes, contradicting him in front of clients and stealing credit for his work. He couldn’t shake the stigma of being ‘Uther’s spawn’, no matter what he did.

Arthur had daydreamed about quitting before, even going as far as writing a resignation email. But the promise of a steady paycheque and the thought of disappointing Mordred had stopped him from hitting the send button. His job may have been torture, but it paid well enough (along with his late mother’s trust fund) to financially support both himself and Mordred while he pursued his Master’s in Philosophy in Medieval History full time.

Their plan had always been for Arthur to hold out on a career change until Mordred graduated. He just needed to get Mordred through school, to support him, and once they were both employed they could have a comfortable life. Could think about doing things like selling Arthur’s flat for a place with room to grow, or getting a dog.

Even consider getting married...

Arthur had looked forward to these dreams. They were a bright spot on the horizon that he’d point his compass to, whenever he found the waters of work getting choppy. _A few more years_ , he’d promise himself. A few more years and all of this torture will all be over.

But how was he to manage supporting them now, without an income? How was he going to pay Mordred’s school fee’s without completely depleting his trust?

Arthur was in a prickly mood by the time he got inside the lift. He could feel his frustration clawing inside him like a hungry beast. Keeping it contained was all he could focus on, so much so that when a man barrelled into Arthur’s shoulder as the doors were closing, throwing the box from Arthur’s arms and sending the contents clanging to the floor, Arthur had to restrain himself from tearing the clumsy fool limb from limb.

“Let me get that,” the man gasped. He was sprawled on the ground from the force of the collision, now clambering onto his knees to shovel what he could of Arthur’s belongings back inside the box. “The doors were closing and I-“

It looked like the office supply cupboard had exploded inside of the lift, Arthur’s pent-up frustrations erupting at the same time.

“What kind of _idiot_ are you?” he spat, glowering at the man. “There are three lifts in this building! You could have waited for the next one!”

Apparently the man was the kind of fool who would grin back without a word of apology. He smiled up at Arthur from the floor, his blue eyes shining behind a shaggy black fringe. Arthur imagined what he would look like minus a front tooth. But instead of acting on the violent impulse, he leaned over and grabbed his box, helping the imbecile back onto his feet with an annoyed grunt.

“Thanks,” the man quipped, dusting off his suit jacket and throwing a handful of paper clips into Arthur’s box. “And sorry about that.”

The idiot's Navy blue suit bagged around his slender build, giving him the appearance of a child playing dress up. But, despite his appearance, he was easy on eyes. His face was made up of strong features (pouty lips, angular chin, round ears) that shouldn’t logically work together, and yet they did.

Before Arthur could contemplate him further the doors pinged open, the man disappearing into the drab terrain of the city.

 _Well,_ Arthur thought, picking the remainder of his papers off the floor, _At least I managed to get an apology out of him._

 

*******

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

Arthur repeated his new mantra over and over again as he walked towards the Tube. He brushed his wallet against the Oyster reader as he juggled his box, the rumble of an approaching train spurring him into a run. He bolted down the escalator, taking the stairs in two’s and pushing past a couple that couldn’t be bothered to stay to the right.

He huffed to reach the train in time, dashing into the coach just as the red sliding doors clamped shut. Once he had caught his breath, Arthur plopped down on the seat closest to him, trapping the box between his feet and praying for a moment of quiet.

_But that was too much to ask, wasn’t it?_

An off-key chorus burgled its way into his ears. The passenger three seats down from him too deafened by his ear buds to realize he was singing, or simply lacking in basic commuter courtesy. The unspoken rule of silence in the coach had been shattered.

_It was going to be one of those days._

“They're Beatles lyrics, aren't they?” The commuter to Arthur’s left asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied curtly. He squared his shoulders, adopted his ‘bugger off’ posture and pulled his mobile from his pocket, hoping the stranger would gather the message.

He didn’t.

“Of course you do. Everyone is born knowing Beatles' lyrics instinctively. They're passed into the foetus along with all the amniotic stuff. In fact, they should be called The Foetles-”

Arthur risked a sideways glance to glare at the chatty passenger, feeling a familiarity about the man that he couldn’t shake.

“Funny how nobody talks on the Tube, isn't it?” the stranger continued. “I rarely catch the Tube myself, or lifts. Confined spaces. Everybody shuts down. Why is that? Perhaps we think everybody on the tube is a potential psychopath or a drunk so we hide behind our electronics...”

The man leaned closer, not taking Arthur’s silence as a hint. “Speaking of, did you know your screen is smudged? You should clean it, I have a handkerchief you could-”

“Look,” Arthur snapped, shielding his phone with his palm. “I don't think you're a psychopath. I just want to read my emails.”

The stranger looked Arthur in the face and blushed. “I’m sorry. I'm in a little bit of a good mood today as a matter of fact, so I'll just... _shut up…”_ He fiddled with the edge of his tie, and it was only a moment before he looked up again and asked, “Have we met before?”

Arthur raised his eyebrow.

“No, no, you seem familiar- ah- I’ve got it! You’re the prat from the lift in building fifty-five! You dropped your box and I-“

“Prat?” he said incredulously, “And I didn’t _drop_ anything. Some idiot _, you_ ,” he corrected. “Ran into me and made me lose hold of it!”

“Small details. I was there for a meeting myself. I work with Kilgharrah Media, across the way. How about you, do you work there? In that building?”

Arthur clenched his jaw, looking away.

“I did, but I've just been fired, OK?”

The strangers mouth fell open. “Oh, that's…. That's horrible. I’m sorry-”

“Did I ask for your concern? Do you think it matters to me?”

The accompanying silence was not as welcome as Arthur had expected. He put his mobile to sleep and watched out the corner of his eye as the stranger worried his bottom lip. When the man finally spoke again, their train had arrived at Embankment.

“I get off at this stop,” the stranger said, standing up and avoiding Arthur’s annoyed glare. “I'm only telling you in case you get off at this stop, and you get off before me and you think I'm following you, which I'm not. I didn't mean any offence... Calling you a prat and all. I'm really not a nutcase.”

“I don’t think you’re a nutcase,” Arthur said, rising from his seat and picking up his box from the floor. The man gave him a quizzical look as they walked through the opening train door. “An idiot, certainly,” Arthur amended. “But not a nutcase.”

Arthur moved swiftly onto the platform, the other man keeping a slow pace behind just behind him.

“Was… that a compliment?” the stranger called.

Arthur turned, and another broad smile from the stranger tore his speech from him. He tightened his grip on the cardboard box.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat “I really should…“

The man stretched out his hand. “I’m Merlin.”

“Arthur,” he replied, then gestured to the box in his arms with a bow of his chin. “And in case it’s escaped your notice, my hands are full.”

“We’ll save the handshake for another time then,” Merlin grinned. “I look forward to it.”  

He then walked off across the platform, leaving Arthur pondering where he stood.

And now it was Arthur who found himself shadowing Merlin as he made his way towards the escalators. The platform had already emptied from their train’s arrival, leaving Arthur and Merlin as stragglers, the sounds of their footsteps clomping like horseshoes against the concrete.

Merlin looked over his shoulder, eyeing Arthur behind him. “So, Arthur, are you-”

“I live with someone. A man.” Arthur didn’t know why he’d blurted it. Why he’d said anything, really. It was presumptuous to assume that Merlin was hitting on him. And even if he was ( _which was ridiculous_ ), that didn’t entitle Merlin to details about his personal life.

“Really?” Merlin inflected, curbing his steps. “And what would that ‘someone’ say if they knew you were walking up from the tube with a handsome stranger?”

_OK. Maybe he was hitting on Arthur._

“Who would that be? Have I missed someone?”

Merlin’s laugh was low and pleasantly unrestrained, jolting through Arthur like an electric current. “Well, anyway, it was nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m really sorry to hear about your job, but hey, remember what the Monty Python boys say?”

“What,” Arthur groaned. “ _Always look on the bright side of life_?”

“No. _Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!_ ” and with a wink Merlin had left the station. Vanishing from sight in the time it took Arthur to blink.

 

*******

 

When Arthur reached his flat his spirits had lifted a fraction. Something about his random conversation on tube had thrown his head for a loop, cutting through the usual monotony of his commute and the frustrations of the morning he’d just had. He left his box by the front door (almost forgetting retrieve his keys from the lock) and was about to toe off his shoes when a crumpled blue bathrobe in the entryway caught his attention.

“Lost, are you?” he mumbled. He picked up the wayward garment, shaking it out and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door. Mordred was always strewing his clothes about the place no matter how many times Arthur left notes to _use the bloody basket_.

Music dribbled from the master bedroom. Intermingling with a higher, curious, sound.

_“Oh...Ohh!”_

Arthur took a step forward, his foot catching on the waistband of a pair of burgundy jeans.

He left his shoes on, scooped up the jeans and walked into the master bedroom.

The sight that greeted Arthur tore his breath away.

A dark haired woman was being fucked into oblivion on his king-sized bed, Mordred thrusting heartily under her. She let another wail and Mordred stilled, his body going rigid as he spotted Arthur in the hallway.

“What?” the woman asked, smoothing a curl from her lover’s forehead, “You want it harder?”

Another terrified glare from Mordred and woman turned towards Arthur, her mouth falling slack.

Arthur eyed the pair from the doorway, frozen by the train wreck he’d stumbled upon. All morning long he’d been thinking about coming home, about what he would say to Mordred about work when he returned, and now-

Arthur knew that the sight in front of him should snap his heart like a bowstring, but he felt oddly... detached. It was almost as if he was watching the broken fragments of a nightmare, or a play in which all of the actors had blanked on their lines.

“Morgana,” he said dryly, once he’d found his voice again. “I wasn’t expecting you in London until the holidays.”

Morgana slid off of Mordred in a fluid movement, shimmying her knickers on with an air of forced modesty. “My plans changed,” she said, tossing back her hair. “Good to see you, little brother.”

“You’ve been to the flat before. I assume you can show yourself out?” He chucked her jeans into the hallway, waiting until Morgana had left the bedroom before slamming the door.

It was just Mordred and Arthur now; locking eyes in the bedroom they had shared for the last two years. A room that felt like it had shrunk to the size of a wardrobe, trapping them both inside the cramped space.

Arthur walked over to the nightstand, switching off the speaker with a trembling hand. He tilted his head back, exhaling slowly through his mouth until he felt dizzy from the lack of air.

It was Arthur who broke the silence first.

“Well, Mordred, I've had a dreadful day,” he said with a chilly calm, “I got sacked today...and so did you... it would seem. Cup of tea?”

Silence stretched empty between them. The only thing Arthur could hear the quick tugs of Mordred’s wrecked breathes across from him, and the pounding of his own erratic pulse. Mordred sat statue still, not daring to move from the bed.

His gaze slipped behind Arthur to the only exit in the room. He licked his lips.

“That’d be nice,” Mordred finally replied, sheepish.

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you!” Arthur screamed back.

A sharp kick to the nightstand sent Mordred scrambling to the other side of the bed, yanking the sheets further over his naked body, as if the gauzy cotton could hide his act of infidelity.

The sound that Arthur had made was almost hysterical. Feeling was flooding back to him now, molten and sick, the weight of Mordred’s treachery crushing him. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined to make himself heard before he went completely to pieces. “I come home and catch you riding my _step sister_ , when I’m working all hours to support you…to support us…you’re supposed to be writing your thesis! Not…not...polishing your nob on…you… you…” He had to stop to breath.

“How long, huh?” Arthur’s shaking hand settled across his forehead. The fury in his voice had broken, his words becoming thick and quaking. “No, don't tell me. I'm not interested. I'm only asking because I need to know exactly how big of a halfwit I am!”

As if sensing a moment of opportunity, Mordred slid out of the bed, the sheets slipping off of his narrow hips. “Arthur, I-“

Arthur gulped a mouthful of air. He didn’t wait to hear Mordred’s excuses, he couldn’t. After a strained month of celibacy between them, he’d already suspected something was wrong… but never _this_.

Instead Arthur slammed the door shut on his boyfriend’s face, and picked up his coat.

 

*******

 

Ever since he was a child, Arthur had hated admitting when his father was right.

“An intelligent man does not make a career of Medieval History,” Uther had replied, when Arthur had first introduced Mordred as his partner. “You’re a fool to support him.”

He hadn’t listened to his father, at the time. Had assumed that Uther’s stance on his boyfriend came from prejudice. His father had been surprisingly supportive of Arthur’s coming out, but entering into a serious relationship with a low-income partner had been too much for Uther to handle.

But Arthur hadn’t seen any flaw in that. Mordred was whip-smart and driven, so different from the entitled boarding school boys Arthur had grown up with that being near him felt like a breath of fresh air. Which was why, when Mordred’s passion had decreased at around the same time that his financial needs increased, Arthur was still willing to see their relationship through its rough patch.

All couples had problems. Arthur just hadn’t realized that their problems were titanic sized. Large enough to sink the relationship entirely, leaving Arthur alone to drown his sorrows by himself.

He checked his wallet, irked that he hadn’t the foresight to find a cashpoint before hitting the pub. Arthur had come to The Crown determined to drink himself either numb or comatose, and with five half pints already under his belt, he was making a fine start of it.

He took another swig of his drink, letting his head knock repeatedly against the bar top like a bone drum.

He’d been naive to not see this coming. Mordred had been pulling away from him for _months_. Complaining of migraines before bed and turning to the side to block Arthur from his view... shushing Arthur out of the study when Arthur had wanted his company after a late night at the office.

_Pretending to be asleep when Arthur had leave for work in the morning…_

Had their two-year relationship been nothing but a one-sided fantasy?

The flirty first meeting at Morgana’s moving away party, the nights cuddled in blankets watching shit telly and feeding each other popcorn piece by piece, was any of that real? Or had Mordred only seen Arthur as a mark to prey on? A man with a rich daddy, whom he could fleece tuition out of and dump once he’d sucked Arthur dry.

And how long had Mordred and Morgana been _shagging_? What if he had had missed the train altogether and arrived home half an hour late, would he still have caught them in the act, or continued living in blissful ignorance?

The door to the pub burst open, the distraction putting a stopper on the stream of conscious drivel that Arthur’s brain was spewing.

_He was almost thankful for the intrusion._

“No, no, no. You don't advertise a new restaurant; it's all word of mouth. People talk!” a voice laughed, adding more noise to the swell of the crowd.

“And how do these people who talk know where you are so that they can talk about you?” A second voice replied with a low chuckle. “It's your restaurant, Gwaine, I’m not trying to be contradictory. I just want it to work- _Arthur_?”

Arthur turned his head, blinking his eyes open.

“Hello,” Merlin said, looping his jacket into the crook of his arm. “It’s Merlin, remember? The rather annoying chatty bloke on the tube?”

“Merlin...right.”

Acknowledgement only seemed to bolster Merlin’s courage. He walked over to where Arthur was slumped at the bar. “You look all stressed up with nowhere to go. It's only a job mate, you'll get another one, yeah?”

Arthur’s forced swallow of his drink must have given him away, because Merlin quickly added, “No, it's something else isn't it? Sometimes it helps to just say whatever it is out loud-”

Arthur shot Merlin a pointed look.

“And it also helps if I shove off and mind my own business. Sorry,” Merlin said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Arthur barely knew Merlin. And he wasn’t drunk enough to be personable- ever. But his sob story came pouring from his mouth all the same.

“When I left you at the Tube earlier I went home and found my boyfriend-“

“...in bed with another man?” Merlin finished.

“Woman. Stepsister.”

The man ran his hand down his face, peaking at Arthur between the splayed fingers. “Shit. Oh, I'm sorry. It's... I mean...What an idiot!“

“That was never in question,” Arthur deadpanned.

“No, not me, your boyfriend. He's an idiot-“

“Are you normally this tactless?”

“Sorry. It wasn’t my place...”

Merlin fished through his wallet, slamming a ripped tenner down on the bar that looked like it had been through the wash. Twice.  “Look, this round is on me,” he said softly. “And if it makes you feel any better, you see that scruffy looking bloke over there? That’s my best mate, Gwaine. Not only does he wear pink pants, but his hobby is making cat memes.”

The bartender slid Merlin two glasses, just as a longhaired man waggled his eyebrow at them from across the room. “So you see,” Merlin cringed. “There's always someone in this world sadder than you. Cheers.”

Arthur looked at the drink waiting for him next to Merlin’s hand for a long moment, reluctantly accepting it.

“Listen, Arthur, if you decide that you want company, we're over here, OK?” he said, taking a drink.

It may have been the alcohol muddling his judgment, but company didn’t sound half bad. Arthur watched Merlin’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, wondering why this lanky buffoon was going out of his way to be friendly to him. Trying to engage Arthur in conversation when he could barely stand to be around himself.

And, more importantly, Arthur wondered why Merlin’s goodbye as he walked off left a knot in his stomach harder than the bar counter he’d been hitting his head against.

 

*******

 

More drinks and a flurry of texts later, a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

Gwen mounted the barstool next to Arthur with a single impressive hop. “So, what’s so important that you felt the need to text me fifteen times?” she announced, taking Arthur’s glass and having a sip. “Is it what I think? Problems with the boyfriend?”

Arthur craned his body around to face her, grabbing the glass back. “Depends,” he said, downing it all before Gwen tried to wheedle more away. “Is what you think that I walked in on Mordred shagging Morgana senseless, and I walked out?”

“Your _stepsister?_ ”

“Any other Morgana’s I should be aware of?” he moaned, “That’s not even the best bit...icing on the shit-cake was Nimueh. She fucking _sacked_ me.”

She nuzzled her face into the collar of Arthur’s shirt, squeezing him tight. “ Oh, Arthur…”

The touch was unexpected, and so tender that all Arthur could do was melt weakly into it. The room was blurring in and out of his vision. He had failed to drink himself comatose, but he could count making himself blissfully numb fully achieved.

He swayed in his seat, humming along to a tune that he either knew very well, or had completely made up. As Merlin and Gwaine stood up across the room, Arthur was vaguely aware of toasting his empty glass in their general direction.

“Who’s that?” Gwen asked.

“Acquaintance,” Arthur replied, his head lolling to the side. “Say’s he’s not a nutcase. But he followed me here so I have…” he blanked.

“Doubts?”

“Yes, those. Lots of them. About everything...”

“Come on,” Gwen chuckled, hooking her hands under Arthur’s armpits and encouraging him upright. “Let's get you home, you drunken eedjit.”

 

*******

 

Stairs.

More bloody stairs.

It was Uni all over again. The earthy smell of wet concrete, and the feeling of Gwen’s arms woven around his chest like a flesh straightjacket. The two of them rolling out of the pub at the stroke of eleven, Arthur properly pissed and Gwen struggling to get them both home before he puked on somebody.

Arthur tripped over his feet, and Gwen swore in return, her breath coming in loud spurts. “Stop it, would you? I’m getting too old for this.”

 _You’re never too old to get plastered,_ Arthur wanted to say. _As long as you had problems, you could stand to lose them at the bottom of a glass._

He tried to tell her as much, but his tongue felt all wiggly in his mouth and all that came out was a rippling peal of laughter.

A blue Ford with a dented fender skimmed the kerb next to them, Merlin’s voice ringing from the passenger seat. “It looks like you could use some help,” he called towards Gwen. “Can we give you a lift anywhere?”

Gwen elbowed Arthur’s ribcage. “Safe to go with him?” she asked, her footing slipping under Arthur’s weight.

“Mer- _lin_?” Arthur slurred. “Harmless...”

“Please, that would be great!” she shouted towards the car. “He’s a lot heavier than he looks!”

Gwaine put the car into park and Merlin jogged out to meet them. “Hands up if you drank too much, eh?” he laughed.

“Not as drunk as you thinkle peep I am.” Arthur said shortly. His legs trembled, knees buckling but Merlin was already diving next to Arthur to help Gwen to keep him upright.

“Put a wick in his mouth, and he’d burn for a fortnight!” Merlin said. He turned to Gwen. “Merlin Emrys, It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ah, and the ruffian in the driver’s seat is Gwaine. He’s more harmless than he looks.”

“Gwen,” she smiled back. “And thanks so much!”

 

***

 

This was not Arthur’s room.

The colour of the walls was all wrong. The pillows and the mattress were stuffed to burst. And the curtains...pink floral?

No. That would never do...

The bed creaked complainingly as Arthur collapsed into it.

“Only you, Arthur, could get sacked, leave Mordred, and have a new bloke fancy you all in the course of a day.” Gwen sighed, unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt and wiggling it over his shoulders.

 _Merlin, fancy him?_ Arthur wasn’t sure how she’d come to that silly conclusion. The car ride home had been in companionable silence, save for directions, and Merlin offering him water.

Hmmm, and pleas from Gwaine for Arthur not to vomit in the car...and did he recall Merlin hauling him upstairs at one point?

No. That couldn’t have been right. Merlin wouldn’t be able to lift a thimble without becoming winded.

“He didn't _fancy_ me. He just offered us a lift,” Arthur slurred.

Gwen rolled her eyes, shoving him, hard. “Uh-huh. Well let me tell you, if Merlin had been that concerned about me I wouldn't be helping you into bed right now.”

“You could do better. Pretty bird like you…” he buried his nose into a pillow, recoiling. “This isn’t my room. Or my bed. It doesn’t smell like my bed. Smells like a woman-“

“Relax. Please. You're staying with me for a while. Don't worry, you'll be fine.“

“Can’t be certain,” Arthur replied, rolling over and fumbling with the zipper on his trousers. “As I recall you’ve a big crush on me.”

Gwen pinched his ankle before tugging off Arthur’s left sock. “Arthur Pendragon, will you ever let me live that down? I told you a hundred times I had no idea you were gay when I passed you that love note in secondary school year 9! And even if you _were_ straight, if I had known what an egomaniac you are I never would have written it!”

Arthur mumbled his disagreement into the pillow, slipping blissfully into unconsciousness with his trousers still around his ankles.

 

 

*******

 

One night at Gwen’s had multiplied into more than a week, with Arthur waking each morning with his limbs tangled in Gwen’s guest room duvet and a charred piece of toast waiting for him on a plate on the nightstand.

He wasn’t a coward, but the idea of going back to his flat and confronting Mordred seemed harder than climbing Mount Everest. And searching for a new job, even more so.

So rather than attempt either of these things, Arthur had decided to live at Gwen’s and become a professional mope. It was the perfect career path, he’d decided. Until the day that Gwen noticed he’d been wearing the same clothes four days straight and threw him fully dressed into the shower, attacking him with a scratchy rainbow loofa.

The incident spurred Arthur to reconsider his new profession.

And it also taught him to lock his door every night.

“I know that you and Mordred were together for two years, but don’t you think it’s about time you rejoin the living?” Gwen asked him one Saturday over lunch. “You've been sitting here like suicide on a stick for a week. No man is worth that, especially not Mordred.”

Arthur looked up from the girly magazine of Gwen’s that he’d been perusing, frowning at her from across the dining room table. Gwen was a fixer by nature, born to mother and fuss over others. It was one of the qualities Arthur admired most about he but the pile of plasters she carried in her purse couldn’t begin to heal his multitude of problems.

“Nine days,” he corrected, licking his thumb before turning the next page.

“Nine days. My mistake. So when do you plan on kicking Mordred out of your flat and moving back into it? Or do you think you’d rather sell?”

 _Plans_? He hadn’t thought as far as what cartoons might be on telly and whether or not he would take an afternoon nap.

Arthur’s heart jumped halfway up his throat. After years funnelling all of his attention onto his boyfriend, he didn’t have many of his own friends left. He couldn’t afford to wear out his welcome with his dearest one, especially when Gwen was responsible for keeping him clean and fed when he was too knackered to be bothered with it all.

“Do you want me out?” Arthur ventured, keeping his tone curious. “If I’m a burden I can go elsewhere. Rent a room-”

“Stop it, I didn’t say that! I’m just... curious.”

“My flat is on the border of zone 1 and 2, Gwen.” he said, eager to shift the subject back. “I wouldn’t be able to afford another in that area even after a sale. Everyone in Europe is gobbling up London properties while the pound is low-”

“Spare me your posh problems. So you’ll move back in it?”

“I was thinking that I’d let Mordred stay there. For the time being.”

Gwen got up and walked into the kitchen. She pulled a ready made sandwich from the fridge, putting half on plate for herself and the other half on a plate for Arthur.

“Oh, bless your heart,” she said, sliding the food in front of him. “You’re still in love with him aren’t you?“

Arthur threw his magazine on the table and looked Gwen dead in the eyes, saying haughtily, “I am _completely_ over him.”

“No, dear. You're not.”

“ _I am_.”

“You're not,” Gwen affirmed, picking up her sandwich.

“What do you mean I'm not? How would you know I'm not?”

“Two things, really,” she said between bites. “You're still counting how long you’ve been apart in days, hours and minutes, and you’re considering letting your useless, shagging, wanker of an ex live in your flat rent free.”

Arthur pushed his plate back like it was poisoned.

Maybe Gwen was right about Mordred? Hadn’t he been trying to purge his ex from his thoughts for _nine days,_ with little success? Even sweat dappled and reeking of adultery, Mordred still managed to look cherubic in Arthur’s memory.

_Did that mean he was still in love?_

The idea of eating made him ill.

A sharp knock echoed through the flat. Striking once, pausing, and starting again in earnest. It was too late for the post, but perfect timing for a useless, shagging, wanker of an ex to finally make an appearance.

Arthur squirmed in his seat, grateful that Gwen had styled his fringe away from his face and forced a clean jumper on him that morning. “Do you think its him?” he breathed.

“One way to find out.”

“You go. Tell him I'm out.”

She stuffed the sandwich back into her mouth, unyielding. “I am not answering the door in the middle of lunch,” she said, dabbing her lips daintily with a napkin as she chewed. “Not even for you.”

“It won't be him anyway-”

“So it’s no big deal, is it?”

Her smug, cheek-to-cheek smile told Arthur all that he needed to know. There was no way he was winning this battle. He lumbered out of the chair and started down stairs.

_Shit._

_Shit._

_Shit, shitty, shit._

It was a relief when, instead of discerning Mordred or Morgana behind the frosted glass, Arthur saw a pixelated angular face.

He looked through the peephole at Merlin.

The other man was out of the baggy suit now, but that was hardly an improvement. He was dressed in a mess of colours, looking like he’d gone into his closet blindfolded and picked out the closest things to pass a clean smell test.

The duelling patterns were the perfect extension of the little that Arthur knew about Merlin’s personality. Merlin was enthusiastic, annoying, juvenile, and; dare Arthur think it- a little _cute_.

He tugged off the deadbolt and stared dumbly at Merlin.

“You’re stalking me.”

Merlin grinned back at him, pulling a ridiculous green beanie off of his head and twisting the thing in hands. “No,” he shrugged. “I meant it when I told you I wasn’t a nutcase. I was out this way having breakfast with my mum and I thought I’d stop by and see how you are. Make sure you hadn’t died of alcohol poisoning or anything…”

“How do you know where I _live_?”

“I dropped you off last week don’t you remember?” Merlin said in an even voice. “Ah... no, you probably don’t do you? Like I said before, you were sloshed when I left. Well, speaking of hangovers, or rather their cures, would you fancy joining me for a cuppa?”  

 

 

*******


	2. A Door Opens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize in advance for the lack of beta in chapters 2 & 3\. I thought it would better to post them then to let the fic linger in purgatory longer. All mistakes are mine.

***

Arthur was reminding himself what a terrible idea this was when Merlin thrust a black coffee and a scone into his hands. He’d agreed to walk with Merlin to Albion (a cafe near Gwen’s that was so dilapidated only locals frequented it), but he hadn’t remembered agreeing to let Merlin pay for the both of them.

Arthur held out a note to cover his share, but Merlin waved it away like an annoying fly, shouldering Arthur into the direction of a corner table.

“Come on now, have a seat,” he said, pulling out Arthur’s chair for him with a showy tilt. “The new hairstyle suits you by the way. Very spikey. Lots of forehead.”

Arthur shoved the note back into his wallet, frowning as he sank into the chair.

“No, it does. No gag,” Merlin continued. “Rule number one of courtship, never make a joke about a man’s hair. Or lack of it. Or the size of his-”

 _Gwen was right, he’s pulling me,_ Arthur thought, the revelation causing his palms to sweat. It had only been nine days since Mordred. Nine wretched hide-in-your-room-and-turn-out-the-lights kind of days. He could easily do worse than someone like Merlin, however he wasn’t ready for anything like this yet.

Arthur rammed the tabletop as he stood up. “This was a mistake-”

Merlin caught his wrist before Arthur could bolt, his thumb soothing over the radius.

“I was going to say ego,” he smiled, setting Arthur’s hand free again. “If I’ve overstepped the mark, I apologise. Please, forget I said anything. How are things picking up for you? I understand that you were having a run of bad luck last time we-”

“Why do you care?” Arthur snapped. “What does it matter to you?”

“Because we’re mates. And I know what it feels like to have a relationship end. It’s not easy.”

“A round at the pub and a lift home doesn’t make us mates, Merlin.”

“Fair point,” Merlin said. “But I’d still like us to be, if we can. Look, I understand that you think I’m just some pathetic bloke trying his luck out on you. You must get that a lot, a moderately attractive fellow like yourself,” Arthur looked fixedly at Merlin, causing him to pause and wet his lips.

“But for all you know, you and I might actually get on if you stopped scowling at me and gave me chance. So, here’s what I propose. How about we get to know each other better and if you’re tired of me by the time your drink is finished, I’ll be on my merry way. If not, you’ll consider going out with me again? Sound fair?”

“Moderately attractive?” Arthur scoffed, leaning back into his chair.

Merlin’s grin took up his entire face. “Ah-ha! I knew you were listening. Lose the cold eyes and the tight mouth; I could get you an upgrade. But you haven’t answered my question.”

This was turning out to be the strangest date-that-wasn’t-a-date Arthur had been on, but he couldn’t fault Merlin for his determination.

He glanced around the cafe, considering Merlin’s offer. He had already reached the lowest point of his adult life, being sacked and having to move in with Gwen to avoid his ex. His relationship with his stepsister had always been strained, but it was fair to say the shaky truce they’d forged was now decimated. The crisis with Mordred had shown Arthur that he didn’t have many friends (or family) he could turn to in a pinch. He could always do with making some new ones.

Arthur swallowed his pride with his coffee. Perhaps being friends with Merlin could have advantages? Chiefly, someone other than Gwen to ferry him home from The Crown when he got plastered.

“Alright,” Arthur surrendered. “But this whole getting to know each other business better not have anything to do with going to yours or-”

Merlin threw his hand in the air as if directing traffic. “It doesn’t, I promise,” he said once Arthur had quieted. “How about we start slow by you telling me how your job hunt is going? Maybe I can help?”

“I haven’t really been looking.”

“Funny. You look young for retirement.”

Arthur took a forced swallow of his drink. “You don’t understand. I worked in Public Relations. It’s a competitive industry.”

“For what company, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Camelot Marketing Group.”

“Oh, Camelot? I worked with them ages ago on a logo redesign. The CEO there was a real arse.“

“Nimueh Wicce?”

Merlin shook his head. “Wasn’t her, it was a man.”

Arthur ventured a guess. “You mean, Uther Pendragon?”

Merlin nodded, spooning a childish amount of brown sugar into his coffee. “That’s him! The wanker wanted me to change the colour of the dragon logo six times. Six!” he said in-between lip smacking sips of the sweet brew. “Complained the gold wasn’t ‘gold enough’, what a load of bollocks.”

If Merlin was trying to impress, he was doing a superb job of dashing his chances. Arthur scratched his chin, trying to figure out if he found Merlin’s ignorance funny or not.

“Merlin, before you shove your foot any further down your throat, you do realize that ‘wanker’ is my father?”

Merlin’s eyes tripled in size, a choking noise slipping from his throat. “Oh bugger. I didn’t mean to…” he ran his hand across his face. “I keep mucking this flirting thing up.“

“Trust me, when it comes to my father I’ve heard worse,” Arthur sighed. “He’s retired from the company now. And, considering his sparkling personality, I’m loath to tell him that I’ve been sacked or to go tugging on his shirtsleeve for favours.”

“So why not start own company?”

Arthur studied Merlin’s face for sarcasm and, finding none, let his gaze travel the slope of Merlin’s cupid’s bow and across his lips. They were almost obscene, those lips. The deep dimples framing the edges of them. “Right,” he hesitated. “Just set up my own company, like it’s that easy-“

“But I’m deadly serious!” Merlin said, straightening from a slouch. “Careers nowadays aren’t set in stone. Besides, what's the worst that could possibly happen?”

 _A typhoon._ Arthur thought dryly. _The earth could swallow me up in an eruption of fire and brimstone._ But instead he voiced the actual fear lurking in his thoughts.

“I could fail miserably and look like a complete tosser.”

“Exactly,” Merlin laughed. “So what is there to worry about?”

“But I don’t have half of what Camelot has.”

“What’s that? An office? You can rent an office. Maybe not a posh marble one like they’ve got, but-”

“Are you daft?” Arthur snapped. “Camelot has been in operation for thirty years. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

They drank their coffee in silence as Merlin wrestled for words. “Yeah, OK,” he compromised, putting down his empty cup. “But have you ever considered that you may posses something Camelot doesn’t? What do you have to offer clients that they don’t?”

“The Pendragon name?”

“Yes, but weren’t you born into that? Any git can take advantage of what he’s chromosomally entitled, that doesn’t him smart or capable. Arthur, do you have skills to offer that you’ve actually earned?”

Merlin’s enthusiasm had gone from flattering to scathing. The question scratched a raw nerve, reminding Arthur of the wild accusations that had haunted him his entire career at Camelot Marketing. That being Uther’s son made him inferior. That he hadn’t earned his position through a degree and a million sleepless nights at the office like the rest of the staff had.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. He was sick of being judged. If Merlin planned on doing the same he wasn’t going to take that lying down. “That’s it. I’m done playing your stupid little game,” he growled.

“This isn’t a game, Arthur,” Merlin replied, rushing quell Arthur’s temper. “All I’m asking you to do is think of things you're good at.” he swallowed, warmth flooding his eyes. “I bet you’re good at a lot of things.”

“You have that much faith me?”

It was a question not a declaration, but Merlin didn’t seem to think that peculiar. He was looking rather determinedly at Arthur now, as if he were a puzzle with difficult pieces. Something Merlin could solve with enough coffee and patience. “I think a better question to ask is why you have so little faith in yourself,” he said.

Arthur felt himself flush. Either Merlin a brilliant tactician, or as clueless as his clothing suggested. Arthur was never one to back down from an assault on his ego. Ever.

He thought for a moment. “Contacts,” Arthur ventured stubbornly. “I’m good at making contacts. I have hundreds of them. Relationships with journalist, media outlets, bloggers. You name it.“

“Brilliant. Anything else?”

“I’m good at putting together press kits. Better than anyone in the Camelot office.“

“That’s two things, a fine start,” Merlin beamed. “And if you asked it of him, the graphic designer seated across from you would design your new company logo, pro bono.”

He stood up. Pushed in his chair in and asked. “So, now that I have you thoroughly vexed and filled with caffeine, what are you doing on Saturday the fourteenth?”

Arthur looked at his empty plate. In the time it took him to finish a scone, Merlin had managed thaw his apathy towards his career. To make Arthur forget the past and focus on the present, something Gwen hadn’t been able to accomplish in the nine days Arthur had hidden in her flat. Maybe a friendship with Merlin might work out after all.

“Probably scouting a remote cave and becoming a hermit,” Arthur smirked.

“Excellent, and what time does that finish?” Merlin asked, clearing their empty cups.  “Do hermits eat Italian food?”

 

***

 

“Is there anything else in the car?”

“Nope that’s the lot,” Gwen said, holding the door for Arthur as he carried his last moving boxes into her flat. “You don't live there anymore!”

A mountain personal effects covered Gwen’s living room. Shirtsleeves spilled out of shoddily taped cardboard boxes. Books gaping opened mouthed and battered under Arthur’s collection of DVD’s from his university days. There were five boxes in total, containing the sum of his important belongings.

“Thanks for going to my flat and sorting everything out,” Arthur said, rescuing his best suit from the pile before it wrinkled.

“Welcome, although I still think Mordred should be the one packing his bags, not you.”

Arthur flinched at his ex-boyfriends name. The process of leaving Mordred had been like pulling a tooth with rusty tweezers, but his affairs were finally falling in order.

After the enlightening conversation with Merlin at the cafe, Arthur had applied for a business license, separating his accounts from Mordred’s the very same day. As expected the balance of their joint checking had been drained, but Arthur was simply grateful he’d the sense to keep his trust fund and savings separated. There was still the matter of his flat to attend to, but that headache he’d deal with at a later date.

He shook out the suit, dreading to ask Gwen the question raking his mind. “So,” Arthur said, draping the garment across the back of the sofa. “Did you find any evidence of _her_ while you were there?”

“Morgana?” Gwen said. “No, nothing that stood out. The walls weren’t bleeding and I didn’t notice black cats taking up residence. But I fail to see why we’re discussing the wicked bitch of the west when you have a date with Merlin tonight. You should be getting showered, cologned-“

“It’s not a date. It’s dinner with a group. And cologned? Really, Gwen?”

“I’ll choose your outfit!” She split open a box marked ‘closet’ with her house keys, pawing through it. “This striped shirt is nice. You’ve been eating a lot of crisps lately, Cosmopolitan swears that stripes are slimming.”

Arthur looked down at his stomach. It looked fine to him. “Sod off. I’d rather go starker’s than let you dress me!”

“I’m certain Merlin would appreciate that too,” Gwen winked, plastering the shirt against Arthur’s chest as if he were her personal mannequin, “But for the sake of everyone else at the dinner, save nudity for the bedroom.”

 

***

 

Arthur hadn’t understood half of the jokes Merlin made at the restaurant that evening, but he’d loved the way Merlin’s friends burst into laughter whenever Merlin spoke.

Their group was snugged up at a table by the open kitchen. The aroma of tomatoes and rosemary hounding their taste buds long before the main courses arrived. Gwaine (the bloke from the pub) was there. Along with a simple fellow named Gilli, and a few more of Merlin’s mates from university that Arthur had shamefully forgotten the names of.

It was an intimate party, and a little nerdy, if Arthur was honest. But between Gwaine heaping appetizers on Arthur’s plate, and the pretty rose colour in Merlin’s cheeks from the wine, Arthur was experiencing a contentment he hadn’t tasted in years. He had never gone out like this with his ex. Mordred’s solitary nature had limited their social circle, and while Arthur had seen nothing peculiar about that at the time, the longer he was away from Mordred the clearer his head felt.

But there was still a part of Arthur that felt like traitor for enjoying himself. What was the protocol for mourning defunct relationships? At first the idea of going out with Merlin had seemed ludicrous. It was too soon, the pretence of their ‘friendship’ paper-thin at best. Which is why the tension melted from Arthur’s shoulders when Merlin assured him that the dinner would be a group affair.

Now that Arthur was seated across from Merlin, watching his long fingers glide up the stem of his wine glass, Arthur found himself feeling like a child forced to share a new toy.

“Gwaine’s opening an organic specialty restaurant in twelve days, and he's completely disorganized!” Gilli said, passing a basket of breadsticks Arthur’s way.

“The Green Apple,” Gwaine added, stuffing his face. “And to think my teachers at the culinary academy swore I would never amount to anything!”

Arthur passed the basket clockwise before realizing Gilli and Gwaine expected a response of him. “Well, you know, at my old company we had wars getting Pierre Claude's restaurant opened,” he supplied.

“You did Pierre Claude?” Gwaine gasped, crumbs flying from his lips. “He's my hero! And you did his restaurant launch? I heard that was a really classy do. People went on about it for days after! Do you think you could help me with mine?”

“Gwaine, I mean, twelve days is...”

Everyone at the table stared expectantly. Everyone except for Merlin, his expression was serene, as if Arthur could do no wrong in his eyes. _His fealty was dizzying._

Arthur considered Gwaines proposal. Weighed the pros and the cons, as he had before deciding to start his own business. Again, they were the same. He could succeed in helping Gwaine, or he could fail miserably and look like a tosser. But as Merlin had once reminded him, that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?

“Could I come down and take a look at the restaurant first?” Arthur asked, raiding the bread basket after all. “You’d be the first real client under my new business, so I couldn’t promise you anything stupendous-”

Gwaine slammed his hand on the table, sending the wine glasses rattling. “You will? You're kidding! Yeah, of course you can come down!”

An echoing applause broke out and, as if on cue, the waiter appeared with the main courses. The food was sumptuous, but Arthur noticed that Merlin barely touched the butternut squash ravioli he’d ordered. Instead he rearranged the cloth napkin in his lap and peeked across the table at Arthur when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking.

It seemed as if food wasn’t what Merlin was thinking of.

 

***

 

Arthur had excused himself after the dessert.

Merlin was walking a bicycles width apart from him on the footpath, his ears kissed pink from the cold, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d fallen out of his chair to offer to walk Arthur to the Tube, even though his car was parked in the opposite direction and he was clearly under dressed for the weather.

“So, have you decided on a name for your company?” Merlin probed.

“I was thinking ‘Excalibur’,” relied Arthur.

“Excalibur,” the word rolled off of Merlin’s tongue like a song. “I like it, very masculine. Suits you.”

The concrete glistened from a rain shower they had narrowly avoided, streetlights staining the puddles translucent gold. Merlin’s shoe skimmed the edge of one, shattering the liquid illusion and sending the colour rippling outward.

“It was kind of you to offer to help Gwaine with his restaurant,” he continued, scooting closer to Arthur to avoiding soaking his trousers.

Their shoulders brushed for teasing instant.

Arthur liked how it felt to walk beside Merlin. How Merlin kept even with his strides, as if there couldn’t be a better place in London than by Arthur’s side. He looked at a storefront to avoid meeting Merlin’s eyes; afraid of what he might see reflected back in them. “Did that surprise you?” Arthur asked, wondering if Merlin thought him that much of a pillock.

“It didn’t surprise me at all. I think you’re a kinder person than you let on. It felt good, didn’t it, to forget your problems for a night and have a laugh?”

Growing up with a distant father and a selfish stepsister had made Arthur a master of posturing, but even Merlin had sensed that his mantle of arrogance was growing burdensome. Arthur bit back his taunt. He was tired of isolating himself. Tired of moping around Gwen’s flat in joggers like every day was a funeral. His funeral, to be precise. He thought back to dinner. To Merlin’s lips ghosting his wineglass. Merlin’s hands smoothing out the napkin in his lap as he listened to Arthur, really listened, like what he had to say mattered.

They been surrounded by people that evening, yet Arthur remembered the night as if Merlin had been the only one in the room. He tugged back the thick scarf at his neck, considering what that meant. “Tonight wasn’t bad,” Arthur said. “Your friends were very…welcoming.”

Merlin laughed long and rich. “Is that your kind way of saying strange?”

When they reached the Tube, Arthur fingered the corner of the billfold in his trouser pocket, debating if a lie about losing it the loo and needing a ride home sounded plausible. “Yes,” he said, after a long pause. “But maybe I don’t mind ‘strange’ as much as I thought I did.”

Merlin looked at him through a fan of dark lashes. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, fishing a card from his pocket and sliding into Arthur’s hand. “My work’s been light, that should leave me time to work on logo designs for Excalibur. Why don’t you visit me at my office on Friday, and we can review them together?”

Arthur turned the card over. The company name, Kilgharrah Media, was embossed in thick black letters, Merlin Emrys, and a mobile number printed below that in a shimmering gradient. A normal enough card, with a flourish of something special that set it apart from the norm, much like Merlin himself. “I could make that work,” he said, unwrapping his scarf and draping it casually around Merlin’s neck.

Merlin shook his head, not understanding. “Arthur, I can’t keep this-“

“Good, because you’re not 'keeping' it, you’re giving it back to me on Friday. I can’t have you catching pneumonia before you finish my logos, and don’t lose that. It’s cashmere.”

“Of course it is,” Merlin teased. He wound the scarf around face, until only his nose peeked over the top. “It’s in good hands, Arthur, I promise. I’ll see you on Friday.”

 

***

 

Wedging into the train with the rest of the weekday commuters gave Arthur a surge of déjà vu.

He’d spent years taking the tube to work in the mornings, preparing himself for the scolding emails from that would (undoubtedly) be waiting in his inbox when he arrived at Camelot. Nimueh had the habit of sending those out at three in the morning, and Arthur was convinced this was because she didn’t sleep but ran on pure venom alone.

How refreshing it was to be rid of her. To start his day with a palatable conversation in Gwen’s kitchen, chewing the fat before she slipped out for work. And then mid-morning would peek through the curtains, Arthur opening his laptop and diving into his work for Excalibur. The restaurant PR meeting with Gwaine for The Green Apple opening had gone swimmingly. Perhaps his first job wouldn’t be disaster after all.

Arthur exited the station, vaguely aware of popping his collar as he passed the stone facade of building number fifty-five. He wasn’t afraid of anyone from Camelot recognizing him (by eight o’clock; most of the office was empty). But that didn’t mean he was keen on bumping into ex-co-workers.

The Kilgharrah Media office was a flash of white and silver accents, the epitome of modern interior design. _Get noticed; stay remembered_ , a neon sign on the wall read, hanging over the glass cube that appeared to be the receptionists desk. _Get noticed indeed_ , Arthur thought. As if anyone could miss the army of frames on the walls boasting the agencies accomplishments.

He walked to the reception where a young woman sat typing. He leaned his elbows against the glass. “A Mr Emrys is expecting me,” Arthur said.

“Business or Personal?”

Arthur thought for a moment. “Personal?”

The woman gave him a funny look before picking up a telephone. “Please wait while I ring you through.” She prodded a red button, pressing her ear to the receiver. It was only a moment before she said, “Mr Emrys will see you now, please walk straight down the hallway and enter through the red door on your left.

Arthur was funnelled down a long hallway, the bright red door easy to spot. He opened it, glancing into a room less glamorous than the lobby, crosshatched with cubicles that were mostly vacant.

“Arthur!”

Merlin’s crinkly smile stood out like a torch in the dreary office. He was free of a suit jacket, the first two buttons of his shirt opened and his tie hanging in strips across his chest, like he’d just unhooked it to give himself air. And (for once), Merlin’s trousers fit him. The charcoal wool clinging to the lean lines of his thighs as he walked. Had Merlin dressed up for the occasion?

Arthur took a step forward and Merlin pulled him into a hug that ended as quickly as it began. “I…I’m not keeping you late, am I?” Arthur swallowed.

“No, no, of course not! I’m the one who asked you here, you clotpole, remember?” Merlin teased.

Clapping a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, he threaded him past the cubicles and into an office an outward facing window and no view to speak of, shutting the door behind them.

This must have been Merlin’s office. Arthur’s own scarf hanging on from a wall hook was a giveaway, not to mention the dozen Cadbury wrappers littering the desktop (the man appeared to have a huge sweet tooth). It hit Arthur then that Merlin had his own office, and he couldn’t have been over thirty. Despite years of vying for one, Arthur hadn’t been able to manage an office at Camelot. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d volunteered to meet Merlin at Kilgharrah Media. Merlin was so unconventional, it was difficult picture stuffed into a bland cubicle like a proper corporate.

Arthur knew now that Merlin excelled at his job, and the thought filled him with a warm sense of pride for his friend.

“Ballocks,” Merlin muttered, shovelling the chocolate wrappers into the rubbish bin. “Arthur, I forgot to mention, the secretary... did you tell her you were meeting me for business or personal reasons?”

Arthur licked his lips. “Personal,” he said, self-conscious of the answer. Would Merlin think him it forward for saying that? Should he have gone with business, just to be safe?

Merlin’s relief was palpable. “Great,” he exhaled. “Technically it’s against corporate policy for me to take in outside clients, I wouldn’t want anyone catching on about what we’re doing.”

Arthur knew how that worked. It was a minor breach in Camelot company policy that had allowed Nimueh to legally terminate him. The idea of putting Merlin into a similar position flipped his stomach. “You won’t you get in trouble will you? For making exceptions?” he asked.

Merlin shrugged, popping the last of his chocolates into his mouth. “Doubt it. Even so, some things in life are worth the risk.”

He motioned for Arthur to take the single chair in the room, which had Arthur settled in front of the desk and staring into an open laptop. Merlin pulled up behind him, leaning over the chair and taking the computer mouse in hand. “So, Arthur,” he said, maximising a desktop window on screen. “I’ve mocked up several concepts for you. Most of these include a sword in the logo. Literal, I know, but I couldn't help myself. The rest are your company name in various typefaces.”

Merlin scrolled through the images in slow succession, pausing so that Arthur had time to inspect each one. The designs were masterfully executed and fit to frame, making Arthur feel it would be impossible to single out one. He tried to focus on the concepts, but with Merlin hovering above him like a halo, he could have sworn that the temperature in the room had spiked above 30ºC.

“Could I see the one on the far left,” Arthur asked, loosening his own collar. “The one with the sword and the grey typeface?”

Merlin clicked the mouse, enlarging the selection.

Arthur nosed up to the laptop screen, a sly smile spreading across his face. “I like it, but I think the silver on the sword looks too…silver. Perhaps I should call my father to come down and take a look at it? He’s brilliant with these sorts of things.”

Merlin’s breath tickled the shell of Arthur’s ear. “Which one is your favourite,” he sighed. “Seriously?”

Arthur turned to face Merlin. He was close enough now for Arthur to smell the fresh notes of his cologne. He leaned closer and took in a second whiff, unable to stop himself. “That one,” Arthur exhaled, holding Merlin’s gaze. “I like that one. Just as it is...”

Merlin stilled above Arthur and closed his eyes. He shook his head once, as if waking himself from a dream. “Then it’s... settled,” Merlin said. He shut the laptop with a shaky hand. “I’ll...I’ll... email you the workable art files as well as lower-res graphics for web use. You’ll email me if you need anything else, yeah?”

Arthur scrambled to say something, anything that would keep Merlin close.

“So, you did all this work in a week?” he sputtered, swinging the chair away from the desk. “It must have taken you hours. You’ll have to let me pay you for it.“

Their eyes locked. Merlin paused his hand still on the chair back. ”Your money isn’t any good to me,” he replied. His voice growing low and husky. “But, if you’d like to repay me another way, like inviting me to dinner,” he continued, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t refuse...”

As Merlin’s face brushed against Arthur’s cheek, Arthur’s body flooded with the blinding sensation of want. In a blink his coat became a furnace and his pants felt a size too tight. He jerked his head back, dazed. The broken smile on Merlin’s lips making him feel two feet tall.

“Shit,” Merlin whispered yanking his hand off of the chair as if it had scalded him. He took a step backward. “Arthur I-I’m so sorry! I should never have assumed.“

He knew just he’d slammed a door in Merlin’s face. A door that he could never guarantee Merlin would open freely for him again. Arthur's old relationship scars were deep jagged things. As much as he wanted to snog Merlin senseless, he was terrified that in doing so he’d rip his old wounds open again. He stood up from the chair and fisted his hands, searching for an explanation that didn’t sound like complete rubbish. “Merlin, It’s not that I’m not...that I don’t want…it’s just-“

“Stop. Arthur, please, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I understand. You’re still on the rebound. I'm on the rebound myself...in a way.”

“Who are you on the rebound from?” Arthur asked, feeling a tug of jealousy.

Merlin looked away from Arthur, out the window. “I...It...it was a girl named Freya,” he said with an awkward laugh. “My whole life pivots around Freya and I breaking up sixteen years ago.”

“Sixteen years,” Arthur did the math quickly in his head. “So you would have been, what, thirteen? Fourteen?” He angled away from Merlin, chuckling despite himself.

“Oi! Not funny!” Merlin pouted, a blush radiating down from his cheeks to his exposed throat. “I bloody loved that woman. No warning. Just up and left me for somebody else.”

“Who?”

“Leonardo Dicaprio. It was the year the movie Romeo and Juliet came out, and I went to pieces as you can imagine. Well, until about seventeen when I re-watched the movie with my Mum and finally admitted to myself that I wouldn’t mind a kiss from a Romeo either. That was a very enlightening moment for me. Wish my mum hadn’t been there though. Awkward.“

The blush in Merlin’s cheeks intensified, so red that Arthur was afraid it would cook the poor idiot alive. He took a step forward. “I never took you for a hopeless romantic, Merlin.” Arthur said.

“No, just the hopeless bit,” Merlin replied, his voice smooth as butter. “I know it sounds daft, but I still like to think that there’s hope for me to find someone...right. Someone who...”

Arthur’s blood pounded in ears. _It was now or never._

He ran a hand behind Merlin’s head, tickled his fingers through the thick hair base of Merlin’s skull and slanted their lips together in exploratory kiss. It was embarrassingly chaste. But with Merlin’s blown wide pupils and the needy moan that escaped him, you’d have thought Arthur had just slipped a hand down his trousers.

“You kissed me?” Merlin gasped once Arthur released him.

Arthur’s hand fell away. “I spotted that too,” he smiled.

Merlin licked his lips. “You didn’t have too, I was only kidding, about the payment-“

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Arthur,” Merlin let out a frustrated groan, wrestling with his fringe until it stuck up at odd angles. “I don't want to be a confusion in your life, but something's happened to me since I've met you that I wasn't expecting. And I don't really… Well, I wasn't expecting… Repetition of expecting, I must buy a thesaurus. Anyway, I-”

“Mer- _lin_.”

Merlin’s breathing stumbled. He looked at Arthur’s mouth, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d heard from it. “Look...do...do you want me to give you a ride back to yours?” he frowned, palmed his forehead again with a nervous swipe and muttered. “Bugger. Did that come out as desperate as I thought it did?”

Arthur replied by rubbing cheek to cheek with Merlin, who was stubbly, and awkward, and everything that Arthur had been too afraid to give into.

_Until now._

“That answer to both questions is yes,” he whispered. “Now give me back my scarf and let’s go to mine.”

 

***

 

Arthur was grateful that Gwen Smith had an active social life.

He’d expected to find his flatmate lounging on the sofa and browsing Tumblr when he brought Merlin in. But the dark house and the missing pink wellington’s that normally blocked the entry signalled that Gwen ventured out for the night.

They purged their coats on the dining room table, making slow progress to the bedroom. Merlin ambushed Arthur twice in the hallway, rubbing himself against Arthur’s chest and nuzzling him into submission against the wall.

Arthur had been expecting a filthy slew of open-mouthed kisses from Merlin, but instead Merlin had kissed a soft path across Arthur’s jaw line. Sucking and his licking way down Arthur’s neck, as if tasting him would make up for the dinner Merlin had barely touched on their second ‘date’. When they finally reached the bedroom, lock clicked into place, Arthur crowded Merlin against door, slotting himself perfectly into the triangle of space between Merlin’s parted thighs. Merlin ground against Arthur, his teasing rhythm taking full advantage of the friction that their clothing provided, rubbing their growing erections together until Arthur could barely stand let alone think.

What had started off as innocent foreplay was now a weighty hard-on, throbbing against Arthur’s stomach and itching to be touched. As much as he was enjoying the rutting, there was too much fabric between himself and Merlin when what he really craved was _skin_.

“Clothes?” Merlin panted, as if reading Arthur’s mind.

He nodded, and Merlin yanked his dress shirt free from his trousers, making quick work of the buttons on Arthur’s shirt until he was properly stripped from the waist up.

Arthur shivered as Merlin’s hands glided over the plains of his body, pausing to appreciate each freckle and divot of muscle. “Beautiful,” Merlin smiled, letting his fingers walk the light trail of hair that started at Arthur’s navel and ended at the waistband of his trousers. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I thought you found me only moderately attractive?” Arthur mused, rocking his hips reflexively against Merlin.

Merlin fumbled for the zipper on Arthur’s trousers. “Tonight you're getting a well deserved upgrade-”

Arthur caught Merlin’s hand before he could fully unzip him. He braceleted Merlin’s wrists, pulling his arms taught above his head to keep him still. Letting hips pin Merlin against the wall, Arthur switched his grip, holding Merlin in place with his left hand while his right palmed Merlin’s groin greedily through his trousers

It was lovely, the way Merlin writhed underneath him. He could watch Merlin do that all night.

“Nosey as ever,” Arthur teased, his mouth claiming Merlin in a hungry kiss.  “Play fair. It’s your turn to strip.”

He released Merlin’s wrists, watching eagerly as Merlin tugged off his shirt. Merlin’s complexion was… ethereal. The veins in his arms just visible under the skin, running like pale blue roads to his heart. Soft black hair dusted the centre of his chest, his slim muscular build more reminiscent of a dancer than a desk-chained designer. Merlin arched against the wall as Arthur kissed the slant of his collarbone, trying to convince himself that the gorgeous man he was touching was real.

Merlin finally undid the zipper on Arthur’s trousers, shifting his pants to free Arthur’s cock from the layer of fabric burdening it. It twitched in the cool air, red and pulsing with need. But there was worse pressure to come as Merlin’s spit-slicked hand ghosted the head of Arthur’s prick, feeling the leaking mess that had become of him.

His palm slid down Arthur’s velvety length, slicking him carefully tip to stem. Rolling the skin upward, too tight at first, but quickly finding a motion that had Arthur bent and gasping above him. Merlin boxed their bodies together, urging Arthur’s thrusts with filthy whispers. And god, did Arthur want what Merlin was offering him. Wanted those deft strokes and the reverent voice. Wanted to come against Merlin in white ribbons, marking him as his own. Letting Merlin do the same to his body.

“You’re...even better than I’d dreamed...” Merlin purred, words catching as he teased Arthur with fluid jerks of his wrist, grinding his own erection against Arthur’s thigh in time. “Would love to feel you...inside me next time...”

And just like that, Arthur knew he was done for. There was no way he was going to make it to the bed. He heard his voice hitch. Felt his climax flood Merlin’s grip, strong and blinding as million stars. His body shuddered, feeling lost, but strangely at peace with that.

As Arthur's legs wobbled, Merlin held fast against him. “So beautiful,” he whispered again into Arthur’s ear. And this time, Arthur was too exhausted and spent to contradict him.  
 

 

***

 

 


	3. A Door Closes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!! My only excuse for not posting this sooner is crippling procrastination, and for this I am profusely sorry. No beta, all mistakes mine, as always. :)

***

“Arthur?”

Arthur cracked his eyes open, regretting the decision when he realised he was starker’s and that Gwen was standing beside his bed, giggling at him. He hiked up the covers, rubbing at the side of the mattress where Merlin had curled against him that night. The sheets were ruffled and empty.

“How did you get in?” Arthur rasped, feeling like a teenager caught in the act.

Gwen put one hand over her eyes, using the other to place Arthurs usual breakfast of coffee and toast on the nightstand for him. “The door wasn’t locked,” she said peeking between the splayed fingers. “And Merlin left, in case you were wondering. He mentioned being late for—oh, Arthur don’t look at me like that, I’m happy to see you living again.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond to his best friend, so he scowled at his breakfast. “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m a grown man.”

Gwen looked at the meal she'd made for Arthur and shook her head. "Debatable, but what are friends for? Look, I have to get ready for work, but I’d check my room if I were you. It looks like someone has left you a love letter, and this time, that someone is definitely not me!” She chuckled, closing the door as Arthur began pulling apart the bed.

Only when his duvet was on the floor did Arthur spot the note resting innocently on his pillowcase.

He unfolded it.

**_Now that’s what I’d call a big ‘ego’. I didn’t want to wake you. You're cute when you sleep even if you are a drooler. :)_ **

**_-Merlin._ **

For weeks Arthur had felt like a shattered version of himself, a barely functional puppet. But now here was Merlin, seeping into the cracks of his life and binding them like some kind of annoyingly adorable human-glue.

Human-glue? Arthur groaned out loud, put off by his own metaphors. Obviously he wasn’t awake yet, but the coffee on the nightstand would fix that.

After drinking his fill Arthur folded the note carefully into a square. It was a ridiculous thing; he should really throw it out. Instead he rolled out of bed and found his trousers from last night, crumpled on the rug. Arthur pulled the billfold from the back pocket, slipping Merlin’s letter snugly between the notes inside.

He was not enamoured with Merlin Emrys.

Not the slightest bit.

 

***

 

It was Saturday, and the Green Apple was ripe with activity.

When Arthur had first visited Gwaine’s restaurant the walls were peeling paint and he’d sneezed from the layer of dust coating the floor. Now multi-coloured chairs peeked out under a teak bar-top, guests raiding the waiters trays with Viking-like zeal.

Every seat in The Apple was occupied and not a soul left standing was sober, a successful grand opening, in Arthur’s professional opinion.

Arthur felt completely in his element here, shaking hands with food bloggers. Bemoaning the death of the printed word with journalists and dishing out his business cards like coveted sweets. His press release for The Green Apple had drawn a fair amount of attention, Arthur’s contemporaries curious to see what Uther’s son was up to now that he was free of Camelot’s collar.

It felt wonderful to be his own boss and to make his own choices, but Arthur wasn't in the mood for celebration. Not when an important person was missing from the party.

Things had been going brilliant with Merlin. After another ‘date’ and a string of suggestive late-night texts, Arthur was ready to acknowledge how well the two of them got on.

Arthur took a pastry from a passing tray. He chewed twice, and glided into the fray, wondering exactly how many elbow prods and spilled wine glasses it would take him to reach Gwaine.

Someone patted Arthur’s bum , startling Arthur from his calculations. “M-Merlin?” he yelped, turning around to spot the man he’d been missing.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Merlin said, loosening his tie before giving Arthur a soft peck on the cheek. “Work was hell today. I felt like Persephone waiting for spring.”

Arthur replied by placing his hand on Merlin’s waist, guiding him closer. “Gwaine’s been looking for you all night," he whispered huskily.

“Gwaine?” Merlin inflected.

A cheeky grin melted across Arthur’s face. “I might have looked too. Once or twice.“

Merlin beamed back affectionately. “You’ve really done it with the opening, Arthur. There are so many people here and…it’s brilliant. Really. Give Excalibur a year and you’ll have Camelot jousting to keep their clients!”                                

Arthur chuckled at the horrid joke, marveling equally at its effect on him. It was almost like magic, the way Merlin roused his spirits with just a few words and a crinkle-eyed smile.

Arthur was about to confess this to Merlin (in an edited and less girly sounding version), when he noticed a man seated at the bar, glaring at them. The world rocked in slow motion, each camera flash startling Arthur back to the sick reality that Mordred was sitting in the same room, staring ice at him.

Arthur’s hand dropped from Merlin’s waist like an anchor. I-I'm sorry, Merlin, will you excuse me?” he stuttered, smothering an internal scream. “I’m just going to…I need to...I’ll be right back, OK?”

Merlin mustn’t have sensed anything wrong, because he gave Arthur a playful salute. “Sure. I’ll find Gwaine and you can join us in a minute, yeah?”

Arthur waited to shudder until Merlin was out of eyesight. He pushed his way to the bar, glaring at his ex as if he were a roach who’d scuttled up his pant leg. “How the hell did you get in here?” he asked.

Mordred’s lips twitched into a smile. He finished his drink with a toss of his head. “Lovely to see you too. One of the waiters let me in, the place is packed, your new business must really be taking-”

“You can't turn up like this!” Arthur hissed. “This is a really important night for me!”

Furrowing his brow, Mordred replied, “And what else was I to do when you’ve blocked my calls?”

Arthur didn’t know whether he should laugh in Mordred’s face or toss him in the bins with the rest of the rubbish. Instead he cuffed Mordred’s arm, dragging him into an empty main office. It was black as absence inside, the party twinkling through the windows like a faraway cityscape.

Arthur released his grip on Mordred when he was certain his ex wasn’t going to cause a scene. “You get three minutes, not a second more." Arthur grit.

Mordred shook out his sleeve. “I’ve been thinking about you, Arthur.” He replied, his voice honey sweet now. “I can’t get you out of my mind. We've been through too much just to drop us, haven't we?”

“Don’t waste my time. I’m working.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re too good not to fight for." Mordred peered out the window, scanning the crowd. “Good-looking bloke, the skinny one with the dark hair,” he said insincerely. “You move fast. One could almost accuse you of having a type."

Arthur’s jaw clicked. “Mordred.”

“That was low of you," Mordred continued, his eyes blazing blue comets as he stepped closer, purposefully invading Arthur’s space. “Sending Gwen to our flat to collect your things."

“My flat.” Arthur corrected, refusing to back away.

Mordred snorted back. He was staring out the window again. Searching for something, or rather someone. "I thought at the very least we could have a conversation like rational adults, but it seems that you’d prefer to abandon us without a word."

Arthur studied Mordred while his attention was occupied. Mordred’s cashmere jumper and wool trousers looked more appropriate for a man of sixty than one in his mid-twenties, but Mordred’s old soul had always been one of his charms. He was a quiet young man, on the verge of being icy. And, as Arthur was remembering, Mordred had a hawk-eye for detail. It had taken him only two minutes to deduce the nature of Arthur’s relationship with Merlin.

Arthur relented, taking a tentative step towards the door. He wasn’t in the mood for Mordred’s petty bluffing game. “Your three minutes are up,” he swallowed, hoping Mordred would let him off easy.

“Will you come back to the flat and talk with me?” Modred begged, rushing to the door to abort Arthur’s attempt at freedom. “There's so much more I want to say to you, things I can’t say here. I miss you, Arthur, even if you refuse to believe it.”

Before Arthur knew it Mordred was up on tiptoe, cradling Arthur’s jaw in his hands and kissing him with a desire Arthur hadn’t experienced with his ex in years.

To his shame, Arthur didn’t have the strength to push Mordred away. He closed his eyes, letting Mordred’s mouth probe as it pleased. Mordred certainly hadn't lied about one thing; they had been good together, once. Even if 'once' now felt like a lifetime ago.

“I'll go, but think it over, will you? When you have an answer you know where to find me.” Mordred cooed, nibbling Arthur’s bottom lip as he broke their kiss.

He left Arthur without another word.

It took Arthur three more minutes before his brain caught up with his breathing. He licked his lips, sampling the familiar tang of Mordred’s berry lip balm. Minutes ago his life had been clear, happy, but now Arthur cursed the confusion being near his ex wrought. On the surface Mordred’s pleas had sounded sincere, but it was impossible for Arthur to tell if he’d just been kissed by Mordred the man, or by his charming mask."

 

***

 

“It's official, I’m never calling you a stuck up princess again,” Gwaine announced once Arthur had caught up with him at the hostess counter.

"You call me a princess?” Frowned Arthur.

“Plenty of times mate, but never to your face. Pendragon, you’re ace! The place is packed and I don’t know how I’ll thank you properly.”

One of the hostesses made motions to clear a table for them, but Gwaine waved her off, leaning into Arthur’s ear and whispering. “Or is it Merlin I should be recruiting for your thank you's? You’d like that, Right?”

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” Arthur scoffed. Gwaine waggled his eyebrows again, clapping his hand on Arthur’s back hard enough to keel him forward.

“But, um, speaking of Merlin,” Arthur coughed. "Have you seen him around?" He’d expected to find Merlin planted next to Gwaine, prattling on about the free food, but it had been thirty minutes and he hadn’t appeared yet.

“He left,” Gwaine replied. “Some shite story about an early morning. He apologised, mentioned calling you.”

The reply didn’t sit well with Arthur. Gwaine seemed genuinely grateful for what Arthur had done with the opening, but Merlin wasn’t the type to disappear on you. His last goodbye to Arthur had been so long that Arthur had shoved his jabbering mouth out the door to avoid inviting Merlin back into bed—no—something didn’t feel right about this.

“I’m happy things are working out for you,” Arthur said, looking around the packed room for the clearest exit. “But it’s time I called it a night.”

 

***

 

Gwen hummed Adele merrily in the kitchen, her arms elbow deep in a sink-full of suds. Arthur knew that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer to help her, but his body was woefully unresponsive. Instead he listened to Gwen belt high notes as she drained the sink.

“So when is Merlin coming to ours for dinner?” She asked between breaths.

“I don’t know.” Arthur replied.

“Don’t lie and tell me that it’s just shagging going on between you,” Gwen said, shaking her hands over a dishcloth with a hyper-realistic crown on it. She crossed the kitchen to where Arthur was seated at the dining table, taking a chair next to him. “You two seemed to be really hitting it off. It’d be nice to dine with someone who isn’t as allergic to washing up as you, and Merlin strikes me as the thoughtful washing up type. Is he?”

Arthur stared helplessly at his mobile on the table. It had been days since he’d heard from Merlin, not since the restaurant opening. At first Arthur had waved it off. Merlin was a busy man. But as the days ticked buy without a reply from Arthur’s ‘Hello Idiot’ text, Arthur had begun to wonder if he’d done something to offend Merlin.

Well, besides calling Merlin an idiot, but Merlin seemed to like the pet name. It had become their “thing”.

Arthur startled at Gwen’s fingers snapping abruptly in front of his nose. “Hello, Arthur? Are you in there?” She sighed.

“Oh, right," Arthur said, hiding his mobile into his pocket. “Merlin isn’t around at the moment.”

“Is he away for business? Or taking a holiday?”

“I don’t know. I haven't heard from him in a while.”

The implication sat like lead between them. Gwen drummed her fingers on the tabletop in time with the song she’d just finished humming. “Do you think Merlin’s avoiding you?”

“I don't know.”

“Jesus, Arthur, have you even called him?”

Arthur ran his fingers over the mobile in his pocket, as if he could will it to ring with the touch. “No,” he groaned.

Gwen’s shrewd look warned Arthur that this subject was far from closed. “Arthur, you’re in public relations, you should have better communication skills than this! Have you considered the distinct possibility that Merlin might be the one waiting for you to call him?”

Arthur propped his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands. Why did Gwen have to be so damn nosey? And worse yet, right. “It doesn’t matter.” he replied, pouting like a petulant child.

“Fine. If Merlin doesn’t matter to you than he’s hardly worth getting uptight about. Oh, and Mordred call me, again. He’s rabid about getting ahold of you.”

Mordred, yes, Arthur would have to deal with him soon. He’d been wondering all week about Mordred, specifically, if Mordred was the reason Merlin hadn’t called back yet. Could Merlin have seen them together that night at The Apple? Had he gotten the wrong impression?

“Brilliant,” Arthur sighed. “Two months ago I want Mordred to come round and Merlin comes round. Now I want Merlin to call and Mordred calls. This whole mess feels like a bloody amateur theater production. I’m sick of it.”

Gwen batted her eyelashes at him. “So, you do want Merlin to call you?”

“Promise to forget what I just said and I’ll dry,” Arthur said, tilting his head towards the dish rack in the kitchen.

“Tidy up too and you’ve sold me.” Gwen crossed the room, yanking the crown towel off of its hook and tossing it onto Arthur’s head. “But first, do something about that weasel Mordred. I can only put him off for so long before I have to change my number, and I’m fond of my number. It’s easy to remember.”

Arthur slid the towel off his head. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Lovely, then that’s three chores of mine finished today. Start cooking dinner and I’ll put you in the running for the “flat mate of the month” award.”

“You don’t have any other flat mates. Who’d be my competition?”

Gwen smiled back, ruffling Arthur’s hair until it stood up straight. “The fern in my bedroom. And I’m sorry to tell you this, Arthur, but it’s been beating you hands down this week.”

 

***

 

Arthur’s flat looked exactly the same without his belongings in it.

An oak bookcase loomed in the study area, the desk beside it covered with materials from Mordred’s MPhil program. When a breeze from the window played through the room, flipping the pages of an open book, Arthur strode to the study and closed it tight (Mordred always forgot to close the windows, even when it rained. It wouldn’t do to chance water rotting the floorboards). He closed the curtains for good measure as well, which were the drab colour Mordred had insisted on getting when he’d moved in.

In fact, every piece of furniture in Arthur’s flat had been purchased or replaced at Mordred’s request. Even the modern art on the walls, picked out as a couple, had never been to Arthur’s tastes. Arthur had effectively erased himself from his home and nothing had changed. Worse yet, he didn’t know how that revelation made him feel.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, joining Modred on the living room sofa. "I don't know why I agreed to come,” Arthur snapped. “The image of Morgana writhing on top of you-”

“Please,” Mordred chimed. “Put her out of your mind, she’s out of mine. It's finished between us. I made a mistake. Such a big, big mistake.”

“If only I could believe that.”

“I’m sorry that you don’t. What happened between Morgana and I was a momentary weakness. She’d stopped by to surprise us, let us know that she was in London for the week. You know how she is, last-minute about everything. That’s not important now. But what is important is that I made a mistake, and I’ve learned from it.”

Mordred sighed, resting his hand on top of Arthur’s and stroking the knuckles with feather light touches. The familiarity made Arthur wince. “I mean, this new friend of yours, this Merlin Emrys that you're seeing, does he not make mistakes?” Mordred asked.

Arthur withdrew his hand. “How do you know his name?”

“I might have inquired at the restaurant. It’s not especially important.” Mordred's eyes vibrated, his head leaning to the side to coax back Arthur’s averted gaze. “Move back in with me, Arthur. Please.”

“I-"

“Remember how good we are together?” Mordred interjected. "The holiday we took to New Zealand? Beating everyone at cards on Gwen’s birthday, that was fun, right?”

Only a few weeks ago Arthur would have allowed himself to forget. To tilt Mordred into the sofa to let a round of makeup-sex gloss over the hurt. But Arthur’s eyes were clear now, and Mordred was attempting to resuscitate a relationship that had flat-lined months ago.

Mordred was no longer a marker of stability in Arthur’s life, a safe harbor. He was chaos in plaid trousers, and Arthur wasn’t gullible enough to invite Mordred into his life again.

From the coffee table came an annoying electronic noise. Mordred scrambled to retrieve his mobile off the surface, fingers racing to the silent switch.

“Expecting a call?” Arthur deadpanned.

“My academic advisor,” Mordred said neutrally, placing the mobile face down again. “Where were we?”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned into the sofa. It was softer than he’d remembered. Italian leather? Yes, that was it. At least there was one piece of furniture left in the flat that he’d hand-picked.

“We were at the part where I ask you why our joint checking account is empty.” Arthur said.

Mordred blinked in mock surprise. “Was it?” he quipped, straightening his posture.

“Yes, it was. And there is only one other person who has, or rather, had, access to the account. Why was it empty, Mordred, when we both know that all of the money in there belonged to me?”

Sweat glistened on Mordred’s forehead. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the sofa.

“Strange timing,” Arthur said. “You begging me back after I’ve separated our finances. I don’t remember you calling me before then.”

“I haven’t the faintest what you’re going on about,” Mordred snapped. “Look, I have hot water in the kettle, why don’t a make us a cuppa and we can talk through this…this misunderstanding. There must be a reasonable explanation for it.“

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” Arthur mumbled, but agreed nonetheless. Once Mordred was out of the room Arthur took his ex’s mobile off of the coffee table, skimming through the missed call log. The first number on the screen wasn’t assigned to a contact but it was easy to guess to whom it belonged.

Arthur hit redial. The phone rang twice before the caller answered.

“Mordred, what's going on? Why did you send me straight to voice-mail?” Morgana growled on the line.

Arthur pressed his palm against the receiver.

“Are you in class? I’ve made us seven o’clock dinner reservations at Sketch so don’t you dare cancel when you were the one begging to go all week.”

“It's Arthur, actually,” Arthur replied. “Enjoying lapping up my sloppy seconds, you filthy harpy?”

Morgana’s sucked in gasp made Arthur smile, just a little. He hung up before she could get a word in, placing the mobile neatly where Mordred had left it.

They had had their competitions in the past, Morgana and himself, but Arthur was ready to put that behind him. Preferably, by leaving that insult as his goodbye and never speaking to his soulless stepsister again.

Mordred returned a minute later with two teacups, the strings of the tea bags tucked through the handles, as was his habit.

“Does your academic advisor call you often?” Arthur asked pleasantly.

Mordred nodded. “Occasionally. So, Arthur, do you know what I was thinking-”

Arthur stood as soon as Mordred put the steaming teacups onto the coffee table. He strode towards the front door, yanking his coat off the rack.

“What? You're not going, are you, you’ve only just arrived!” Blurted Mordred.

“It was a mistake to come back at all,” Arthur said, lumping the coat on his shoulders and buttoning it up at marathon speed. “You have two days to move out of my flat, Mordred, and you are going to stop harassing Gwen and showing up at my work events. Consider this a courtesy warning. If you continue to harass me I’ll be forced to get the authorities involved.”

“But…” Mordred replied, jumping from the sofa and scrambling for words. “I thought-“

“Let me make this clear enough for a child to understand, since you continue to act like one,” Arthur growled. “You are moving out of my flat. Where you go from here is not my problem. Crawl back to Morgana for all I care, since she seems to enjoy faking orgasms on top of you, but ‘we’ are over. Permanently.”

 

***

 

Gwen danced in the kitchen at Arthur’s news.

“You’re getting your flat back, and you told Mordred to sod off? I’d say this calls for a celebration!” she cried, rifling through her kitchen cupboards.

Arthur looked to his dinner plate, prodding the limp salad that resided on it. Indian takeaway sounded like the perfect celebratory treat, he thought, but he bit his tongue instead of his meal. It was nice enough that Gwen had sheltered and kept him company after his breakup, the last thing he needed to do was critique her cooking.

“Yeah, and you know the worst bit?” Arthur replied, putting a forkful of roughage into his mouth. “All I could think about was Merlin. I felt like I was being unfaithful to him just by being at the flat with Mordred.”

“That sounds like the best bit, and you were.” Gwen came out of the kitchen and, with a giggle, stuck a twisty neon green straw into Arthur’s glass of water.

“What on earth is that?” Arthur said.

“A party straw. I thought since we were celebrating, we should do it up right. I have a box of them in the cupboard if you’d prefer another colour?”

Arthur flicked the offending straw with his left hand, letting it spin in his glass. “I don’t think this occasion calls for that much celebration, Gwen.”

Gwen’s smile withered. “I take it that Merlin hasn’t called you yet, has he?”

“No.”  

“That's nearly a week.”

“I think I've blown it. I've blown it, haven't I?” Arthur said, putting down his fork and rubbing his forehead.

“Why don’t you call and ask him yourself?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Because men don’t call.”

“He’s a man. You’re a man,” Gwen huffed, waving her hand in the air. “Does that mean neither of you cabbage-heads is ever going to call the other?”

Arthur wanted to tell her that yes, that’s exactly what it meant, and that it didn’t matter to him. But Gwen had known him since primary and could see through his shoddy acting in a heartbeat. He’d been itching to hear from Merlin. And she knew it.  

Taking out his mobile from his pocket, Arthur scrolled through his contacts. He could do this. It was all a matter of pressing a screen. If he could reclaim his flat, breakup with his ex, and start a new business, he could make one bloody phone call.

He hit Merlin’s number and waited for the call to ring through.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked as soon as Arthur hung up.

“Voice-mail,” Arthur said with impatience. “I’m not leaving a message.”

“Have you tried Merlin’s office?”

Arthur lumbered out of his chair. He took his plate into the kitchen, soaped and rinsed it, and left it on the rack to dry. “Forget it,” he sighed, wiping his wet hands off on his trousers. “I'm going out to the shops. Can I get you anything?”

“Arthur, are you OK?”

A laughable question. Disappointed. Angry. Those were all adequate descriptors for Arthur’s current state of mind. He had thought that what he’d shared with Merlin had been deeper than fun and a fuck. But apparently he’d been just as delusional about Merlin as he had been about Mordred.

“Fine,” Arthur swallowed. “I just...You know, I'm... going to the shops. I'll be, um...”

“If that’s what you want,” Gwen said faintly. “But are you sure you wouldn’t like a little comp-“

Arthur left the room before she could finish.

He could stomach disappointment from Mordred and Merlin, but Gwen’s doe-eyed look of pity was a dish he’d prefer to avoid altogether.

 

***

 

He hadn’t meant to wander this far. Hadn’t meant to push through the black and gold doors of The Crown, but now that Arthur was here all he could do was peer at the spot he’d been sitting when fate had thrown Merlin into his life for a third time.

Merlin, who’d made tracking Arthur down seem like an effortless series of coincidences, but for Arthur, the reverse was anything but.

Arthur strode through the Friday night pub crowd, straight to the bar, where uneven rows of alcohol bottles glittered under the lights like jewels of vice.

It would be so easy to sink into the dim and get rat-arsed. Easy, yes, but not right.

Drinking tonight would be declaring a defeat. Admitting what Merlin had meant to him, and that losing Merlin had affected Arthur as much as losing Mordred had.

Arthur ran his tongue across his teeth, imagining the taste of the alcohol that hadn’t yet touched his lips. What was the point in staying out? Of pickling his liver in a pub full of strangers when Gwen was at home worrying about him? He couldn’t ask her to fetch him again.

No. He’d go back to the shops after all. Buy a bag of crisps and pretend that this tantrum had never happened. As soon as Arthur left The Crown, a fat raindrop thumped on the middle his scalp. He barely registered the cold against his skin, but he certainly heard the thick yelp of the man he’d treaded upon while trying to flag down a cab.

“Merlin?” Arthur gaped, taking in Merlin’s usual baggy suit and the large black brolly sheltering him.

“Arthur?” Merlin replied, shaking out his injured foot.

“Sorry, about your…”

Merlin glanced at his shoe as an afterthought, walking over to Arthur to position the brolly over his head. “It’s fine,” he smiled softly. “They’re only my most expensive pair, no harm done. How are you, Arthur? I mean, besides getting sopping wet?”  

Arthur froze. “I'm… great,” he said.

“Excalibur going well?”

“Great,” he snorted shortly.

Merlin’s face flushed, registering Arthur’s temper. “Great,” he repeated in a lost voice. “That’s good, really good to hear. That you’re...great.”

“Finished work, have you?”

“I took a half-day. I’ve been out running errands.”

Arthur, having nothing else to lose, dropped a bomb. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week, Merlin. I assumed you were away.”

The rain clapped angrily around them. Merlin released a small sigh. “Arthur, look. Please don't think that I haven’t called you because I haven't not called you. I mean, I don't mean I haven't not called you, because that's a double negative. So as to say that I’ve called you-”

“When did you call?” Arthur asked, a little breathless.

“Well, I didn't.”

Arthur stepped pointedly out of the shelter of Merlin’s brolly.

“But I didn't not call you in the way that you might think I didn't call you,” Gasped Merlin, trying his best to sneak the brolly back over Arthur’s head. “I’ve been busy. With work and… other things. I wanted to call you. I even did the thing where you pull up the person in your address book and hover over their picture with your thumb. It's ridiculous behaviour-“

Arthur needed to get away. Fast. He darted towards the crossing, but Merlin trailed him the entire way, like a lost puppy.

“Arthur, you see, I thought you still had to deal with your ex!“ Merlin said, catching his breath.

Arthur stopped at the light. “Mordred?”

“Yeah, and I-”

“So Mordred is why you haven't called?” he rubbed the raindrops from his lashes, as if it might help him articulate. "Whatever you saw Merlin, whatever you thought that was, Mordred isn’t anything to me! He’s…he’s... I can’t fucking stand him!” Arthur spat.

Merlin swallowed audibly. “Yeah, well, I thought it was best if I allowed you to, um. That is, after Gwaine’s opening didn't want to just presume that we were a-”

The light changed, a steady stream of pedestrians zigzagging between them. Arthur dodged the multicolored halos of their brolly's, taking a stride sideways to make space for a pram. “That we were, what? Seeing each other?” he laughed maniacally. “You think I bed every badly dressed graphic designer I meet? Sit through their terrible dinner jokes just for a shag?”

Merlin peered at Arthur through the drizzle and said with a snort, “I’ve been privy to a miracle. Arthur Pendragon, were you attempting humour?”

The tension between them cracked.

“Revel while you can, it won’t happen again,” Arthur smirked, peeling back his fringe from his forehead.

Merlin’s cheeks brightened. He came back with the brolly but a distraction altered his course. Merlin took a vibrating mobile out of his pocket, gesticulating to Arthur to hold the brolly and give him a moment.

Arthur did, watching Merlin’s pale fingers cup the receiver.

“Hello. I see. I'll come straight away. OK, thanks,” Merlin plucked the mobile from his ear and stuck it back in his pocket as if it weighed four stone.

“Is everything alright?” Arthur asked.

Merlin bit his lip. “Let’s just say this hasn’t been my week.”

“Why, what’s the matter?”

They had resumed stances across from each other, but this time it was Arthur providing Merlin shelter from the rain. “My mum had to go into hospital,” Merlin said, gravely. “She's had some tests done, and the doctors have the results now. I should probably go.”

“Do you want me to come with you? To the hospital?”

He shot Arthur a tight smile that never quite reached his eyes. “That's really nice of you, but…I don't... She's quite frail. I don’t know how she’d-”

“It's fine.” Arthur said, handing the brolly back to Merlin. “But if there’s anything I can do for you, you’ll let me know?“

Merlin’s silence over the last few days had been justified; there was no doubt of that now. He had misunderstood Arthur’s relationship with Mordred, and along with a mum in the hospital, was it any wonder Merlin hadn’t had the time or incentive to call?

Arthur was feeling more and more like the prat Merlin had first accused him of being. He really should excuse himself. Let Merlin sort out his affairs and get back to him if, or when, he wanted to.

“It was good to see you, Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “I should-”

“Some of my mates are having dinner at Gwaine’s tomorrow night,” Merlin said in a rushed voice. “You’ve met them before, Gilli, and the lot. If you were not doing anything would you maybe want to come along? At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, I could pick you up at six o’clock?”

Arthur smiled a little. Merlin wanted to pick him up. Wanted to go out with him again. Everything was going to be all right between them.

“That works for me,” Arthur shrugged, playing it casual. “I’ll send you the address of the office I’ve rented for Excalibur. Can we meet there? Perhaps you could offer me decorating tips?”

“Graphic design and interior design are apples and oranges, but for you I'd give it a go." Merlin grinned.

A cab curved down the street like a shiny black bullet, splashing the brackish rainwater as it drove. Arthur flagged it down.

“Listen, Merlin, don't worry about your mum. Remember to look on the bright side of…” Arthur quickly remembered Merlin’s Monty Python fixation. “Er, bad example.” He amended. “But whatever the case, I’m sure she’s in good hands.”  

“I'll see you later, Arthur.” Merlin smiled, diving in for a soggy hug after all.

Merlin’s hug was all elbows, rushed, and far too tight. It felt wonderful. “Goodbye, Merlin.” Arthur replied, not wanting to get into the cab and let him go.

 

***

 

“Love the office, Arthur. Sure it’s small, and the floors aren’t marble, but what can you do…ah-ahh-!”

The office chair swiveled under Merlin’s bum, Arthur peering up from between Merlin’s thighs. He locked the wheels with a touch of his knee, brushed his thumb down the curve of Merlin’s hipbone and let his other hand curl around Merlin’s spit-drenched cock, pumping steadily upward.

“Speak up, I can’t understand you,” Arthur said in an amused voice. He swallowed Merlin’s full length again, surrounding him in wet as his tongue teased and swirled.

Merlin licked his lips and tried again. “I was just saying that all your office needs is a touch of pai-ah-A-Arthur quit being cheeky!” Merlin whined, letting out another soft moan. “You bloody well know that I’m trying to compliment your new- of-oh-oh-hell-“

Merlin’s hips arched and Arthur let him fuck into his mouth a little deeper, tasting a salty rush of precum against his tongue. He could feel Merlin’s fingers scramble for purchase in his hair. Feel the shift in position that was to be Merlin’s undoing.

Merlin’s breath was coming in shallow pants, his ballocks tightening under Arthur’s devoted attentions. A few more sucks should have finished him off, but Merlin was fighting Arthur. Prolonging his release.

No. That simply wouldn’t do.

Arthur ramped up his pace, twirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks until he was lapping Merlin up.

Merlin’s head sank back in the ergonomic office chair, his voice hoarse. “A-Arthur, I’m-”

Arthur was so focused on their rhythm that the pulse of Merlin’s cock at the back of his throat took him by surprise. As Merlin’s warm, seemingly endless orgasm flooded Arthur’s mouth he swallowed it all. Guiding Merlin gently through the aftershocks of his pleasure.

Merlin slumped forward in the chair, body limp and utterly drained. He looked around the office, bleary eyed. “My God,” Merlin sighed, stroking the back of Arthur’s forearm while he caught his breath. “I can’t,” a shallow pant. “Let you get away with torture like that. Positively criminal,” a deeper pant. “That was.”

Arthur kissed Merlin twice on the lips. “Didn’t hear any complaints when you were in my mouth,” he smirked.

“Right,” Merlin laughed, chasing down a third kiss from Arthur. “Let’s see just how smug you are when I get my hands on you.”

The office Arthur was renting held only the bare essentials. The office chair Merlin was collapsed in, a file cabinet, and a clock on the wall that reminded Arthur just why Merlin had paid him a visit.

“We’re late for Gwaine's dinner party,” Arthur said, hiking Merlin’s trousers up for him and tucking him into his pants. “Will they be missing us?”

Arthur jolted forward as Merlin hooked him by his belt loops, dragging Arthur halfway into his lap.

"Probably," Merlin smiled, going for Arthur’s belt. “But that doesn’t mean I care enough to stop.”

 

***

 

Arthur was still on a romantic high when he decided to surprise Merlin with lunch at work the following day.

Dinner at Gwaine’s had been a holiday in itself, what with Gwaine keeping Arthur’s wine glass bottomless to thank him for the PR he’d done for The Apple. It was well into the evening before Arthur and Merlin found a moment alone again, Merlin smuggling Arthur into a quiet spot in the garden.

They had snuggled against the ridges of a shed, letting their affection for each other flow as naturally as the cold that nipped at their skin. Arthur had let his lungs fill with Merlin. Let the sweet taste of Merlin’s mouth and the scent of his cologne wash over him, acknowledging again just how right they felt together.

Bringing lunch to Merlin's office unannounced was a forward move for Arthur, but he couldn’t see a way around it. He craved Merlin’s company, and if that meant dealing with Gwaine teasing him about why he and Merlin were and hour late to for dinner, Arthur was willing to take the hit.

Arthur strutted into Kilgharrah Media, takeaway from The Green Apple in hand.

“Is Merlin Emrys in?” he asked the receptionist. She was the same young woman Arthur had seen his last visit, but her hair was drawn into a tight bun, making her look older by years.

She looked up at Arthur from behind her computer screen, giving him an obligatory smile. “I'm afraid not, Sir.”

“Do you know when he's due back?” Arthur replied, a little irritated at the prospect of having to finish two sandwiches by himself.

“He didn’t say. He's gone with his husband to visit his mother in hospital, would you like me to take a message?”

All of the colour drained from the room, pooling at Arthur’s feet. He was going to vomit.

“Sir? Are you alright?” The receptionist continued. “Would you like me to take down your name and telephone number so that Mr. Emrys can get back to you?”

“No…I...thank you.” Arthur replied, stumbling backward out of the office.

The world appeared to Arthur in tunnel vision. The shuffling foot traffic and noise of car horns smothering him. He clutched his takeaway bag tighter, as if it were a lifeline to a better place, a better time.

He must have misheard? But he couldn’t have misheard; the abominable word had flowed from the receptionist’s mouth clear as water.

It was impulsive, borderline stalking, but it was the only thing Arthur could think of to do. He walked next door, to the Costa Coffee by Merlin’s office, ordering a latte and grabbing a table outside.

A two-hour surveillance mission shambled past. Arthur ordering latte after latte, leaving each one untouched in front of him. Cold shivers wracked Arthur’s body, but there was nothing to be done about it. He’d lent his best scarf to Merlin, and hadn’t gotten it back yet.

When Merlin finally appeared in front of the Kilgharrah Media office at twenty to three, it was with a sandy haired man that Arthur had never seen before.

He could be anyone, Arthur told himself. A friend from university. One of Merlin’s coworkers. The pair was only a shop’s width from Arthur, but the distance seemed mammoth.

Arthur pulled his collar up as far as it would go, peering over the top. He watched the men stand outside the building, Merlin shifting in place, his head hung low.

Arthur was grasping at straws now. Maybe that isn’t Merlin at all, but a twin Merlin had failed to mention? That’s it, a twin. With the same name. Who works at the same office.

The excuse sounded ludicrous, even to Arthur

The men were talking quietly, the man with the sandy hair rubbing circles on Merlin’s back with his hands before pulling him into a tight embrace.

And that was how Arthur ended up walking home that afternoon, discarding the eighteen pounds worth of food he’d purchased from The Green Apple into the closest rubbish bin.

Gwen’s flat was silent when he arrived home, with no Gwen in sight. Arthur went straight into his bedroom, thrashing the curtains closed. Once the room was black, he climbed into his bed, shoe’s on and fully dressed, and curled up under the covers. Wishing, and not for the first time that year, that he were anybody but himself.

 

***

 

Gwen stood in the door frame. She had that look on her face, the look that made Arthur feel like he was a museum piece. Something brittle and glass, that could break with an ill wind.

“Merlin was at the door,” Gwen said softly. “He asked for you.”

Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and finished taping up his last cardboard moving box. Hangers were scattered across the floral bedspread in Gwen’s guest room. Boxes of Arthur’s belongings stacked in precarious block like towers.

Arthur’s flat was finally Mordred-free, and he been in the process of reclaiming his life anew (what he had left of a life, anyway). He'd thought that things might come to this with Merlin. It had been two days since the ‘husband incident’, and Arthur had been keeping a low profile. Skillfully ignoring every one of Merlin’s calls.

They were supposed to have had dinner tonight, the same Italian restaurant they had gone to once with Merlin’s friends. Of course Arthur hadn't shown, answering every one of Merlin’s texts with a caps-locked BUGGER OFF.

“Have you tried putting Merlin off?” Arthur asked. Knowing how loyal Gwen was she'd done more than that, but Arthur wanted to hear it from her.

Gwen rested her hand on her hip, blowing back a strand of her curly hair. “I told Merlin that he had some damned nerve coming here, and then he asked me to open the door. Said that he didn’t know what was going on, or why you’d stood him up and were cursing him like a sailor. So I put my hand on my hip like this, looked him straight in the eye and I said, ‘Well I'll tell you, Merlin. Arthur saw you out with your husband. You know, the one with the ring? Do you think that might have had something to do with it?’ And then I slammed the door on him. We seriously need to talk about your taste in men, Arthur.”

Rearranging his precious stack of boxes, Arthur said. “So he’s still here? He hasn’t gone?”

“Merlin's made camp across the street. He’s been standing for an hour, I wasn’t going to tell you he came, but I don’t think he’s going to budge until you go outside and talk to him.”

“Bloody hell,” Arthur pulled up his sagging joggers, weaved through his boxes and tromped down the stairs in two’s. As soon as he cracked open the front door he saw the colorful splash of mismatched clothes that was Merlin, sulking at the bus stop across from Gwen’s flat.

_Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit._

“Arthur!” Merlin pushed off the pole he was leaning against, the misstep costing him his balance. Arthur could tell that Merlin had been standing in the cold for a long time. The apples of his cheeks were a gummy pink, his lips red and worry bitten.

“Arthur, oh thank god you’ve come out,” Merlin called. “You've made a mistake-”

"Is your mum feeling any better?" Arthur yelled.

Merlin startled. "Um, yes. Much. Thank you."

“Pleased to hear it. Now got the fuck HOME." Arthur said with the same commanding tone he’d used on his Labrador retriever growing up. It didn’t have the desired effect. If anything that seemed to exasperate Merlin further.

“You’re right,” Merlin gasped, doing a traffic check and crossing the street towards the flat. “Arthur you’ve been right about me this whole time, I am an idiot, but not in the way you think I am! Please, let me explain!”

This speech felt like a rewind on Arthur’s conversation with Mordred. Arthur squared his shoulders, straightening to his full height. It was only because he had liked Merlin that he’d avoided a fight. But if confrontation was what Merlin wanted, he would damn well have it, with a cherry on top.

Arthur flung open the door. “I’m through with shoddy explanations, and I’m through with you!” Arthur said, not caring if Gwen’s neighbours thought him insane.

He barreled towards Merlin, stopped a pace away from him and continued shouting. “I’ve been through enough infidelity for a lifetime let alone a year, so you can piss off, Merlin!”

Instead of cowering, as Arthur had expected, Merlin stared Arthur point blank in the eyes and said, “I was married, Arthur, but not anymore. We separated, I finalized the divorce papers months ago, and it was nothing aggressive. I've wanted to tell you about him...about Will, so many times-”

Arthur snorted.

“Okay, I…I admit it. I was being selfish.” Merlin gulped. “I thought that it if you knew about my past...Fuck, Arthur, after everything you’ve gone through I thought that would scare you off.”

“My mother has been in hospital, as you know,” Merlin continued, “Will’s agreed to keep up the marriage pretence for my mum, as a favour. She doesn’t know about the divorce yet. I didn’t want to worry her, not with her health being what it is. Will works there, at the hospital; he’s been helping keep an eye on her for me, he's a very decent man. Do you have a mum, Arthur? Do you understand what that’s like?”

Arthur had grown up under iron Uther, with pictures of a mother, never memories of one. Igraine was the first in Arthur’s string of losses, the most dramatic. All that Arthur understood now was that Merlin was to be his next.

“No, I don’t.” Arthur snapped. “For a brief, illogical, moment I thought I had…thought we had–It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“You have me,” Merlin supplied. “You’ve had me since the train.”

Their eyes locked, churning Arthur’s stomach. He had to turn away. Merlin may have been a fraud; but he still looked like the old Merlin. The same strangely handsome man who had first chatted Arthur up on the tube, a man that Arthur had never meant to encounter or care for.

“Liar,” Arthur cut.

Merlin flinched. “If what I wanted was an easy pull, do you think I would have pursued a prat like you? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get you to even notice me? And I don’t blame you for that, Arthur, I’m not an attractive person, not like you. But I liked you. I really really liked you, and I just couldn’t let you go. You’ve always meant more to me than a shag. You still do. Please, if we are not going to be together let's make sure it's for the right reason and right now there is no reason. None. Will and I don’t live together. We don’t even route for the same footie teams. He’s a mate, Arthur. That’s all. It’s been platonic between us for a long time.”

Arthur hadn’t been looking at Merlin closely before, but he allowed his eyes to travel the long length of him, drinking his fill. Merlin looked a wreck. Frightened and curled in on himself, like a man who had been publicly stripped.

And wasn’t that exactly what was happening? Weren’t they standing across the street from Gwen’s flat, cars rolling past while they quarreled, and people gawking at the spectacle they had made of themselves?

It dawned on Arthur then, clear as daybreak. They were ridiculous, the both of them. They were both fools. Fools who were completely, blindly, stupidly, in love with each other.

What was it that Mordred had asked Arthur at his flat, the day that they’d separated for good? _"This new friend of yours, this Merlin Emrys, does he not make mistakes?"_

Yes. That was it. And the answer to that question was now a definitive yes. Merlin had made a mistake, a colossal one.

But hadn’t Arthur made his own mistakes as well? Hadn’t he given Merlin the cold shoulder when they first met? Almost thrown away his life and cleanliness over his breakup with Mordred, Mordred who wasn’t worth the salt of a tear. Hadn’t he let Mordred kiss him at the restaurant opening, confusing Merlin about the nature of both their relationships?

And hadn’t Merlin forgiven Arthur for that, without a second thought?

No, Arthur hadn’t known Merlin long, but he knew him. Knew that the moist eyed look Merlin was giving him was sincere and not a fabrication. He knew that Merlin wouldn’t have come to Gwen’s flat to face her wrath if hadn’t thought Arthur was worth it. That he wouldn’t have given Arthur the time of day after the ride home from the pub, or worked overtime on the Excalibur logo, If Arthur hadn’t truly meant something real to him.

Mordred was different; Mordred only took from Arthur, but Merlin? Merlin had given of himself, never expecting anything back except the slim hope of earning Arthur’s affection.

Arthur found the ball of tension in his jaw dissipating. He closed his eyes, letting the heat of the moment ebb away from him like a tide. When he opened them again, Merlin was putting on a pair of knit gloves, preparing to cross the street.

They exchanged long sighs.

“Is that true, about Will?” Arthur asked, rubbing his temple.

“About the footie teams?” Merlin said in a shaky voice. “It is. The wankers a fan of- ”

“That’s not what I meant. Is it true, Merlin, about the divorce?”

Merlin wrapped his arms loosely around his chest, like it hurt him to speak. “Yes. I'm sorry that you had to hear it this way but it’s the truth. If you’d, um, like me to leave now, I can-”

Arthur took a step towards Merlin. “So you’re going to be completely honest with me now, no more omissions?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded like a bobble head figurine. “Yes. Yes, of course.” he whispered.

“Than tell me, Merlin, do you always prattle on like this when your anxious?” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes. “Because if we’re to begin a proper relationship, I’ll need to know things like that up front. Invent a safe-word to stop you from going on.”

Merlin jumped as if stung, but Arthur’s humor eventually clicked. “I think my prattling is good for you,” he said with a clipped laugh. “You could stand to learn patience. Besides, you already know of one surefire way to shut me up.” He fidgeted with his gloves again. “Listen, Arthur, have...have you eaten dinner yet?”

Arthur licked his lips. “Not yet. No.”

“Then would you, um, like to come to mine? No pressure. No expectations. I could cook for us?”

“You cook?” Arthur said, looking doubtful.

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “But fair warning, I never said I cook well. Or we could just watch telly…a film…whatever you wanted, yeah?”

Merlin’s shaky smile was the most beautiful thing Arthur had seen in weeks, even more so knowing that it was just for him. He offered his own smile as a peace offering. “I’d like that, Merlin. Let me get changed and let Gwen know I’ve gone. She’s very… protective.”

“Can’t say I blame her. Arthur-“ Merlin’s fingers caught the sleeve of Arthur’s hoodie, causing him to spin around.

“Yeah?” Arthur replied, cocking his head at Merlin.

“I just wanted to, um, to tell you that I'm glad we got things sorted out. I'm glad you caught the train that day Arthur and I —I am going to make you so unbelievably happy.” Merlin said in a small voice. “That’s a promise.”        

Merlin gasped as Arthur’s right arm hooked him around the waist. Arthur did it again, with his other arm, until Merlin made the same noise and their chests bumped lightly together.

“You already do, idiot.” Arthur smirked, tussling Merlin’s hair.

And he meant it. Arthur had no clue what tomorrow with Merlin would bring, let alone a proper relationship with him. But, for Merlin, Arthur was willing to take a risk.

***

 

 


End file.
